


While winter lasts

by DiseasedBreeze



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alpha Slade, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Animal Death, Bounty Hunter Jason, Canonical Child Abuse, Dubious Consent, Fake Dating, Gore, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Spoilers, Omega Jason, Outlaw Slade, Past Child Abuse, Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers, Referenced Drug Abuse, Western AU, more to be added - Freeform, red dead redemption au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2019-11-04 06:37:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17893385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiseasedBreeze/pseuds/DiseasedBreeze
Summary: Slade Wilson isn't expecting much out of this winter. They escaped law enforcement by the skin of their teeth, heading to their hideout in the mountains before the pass iced over. When the spring thaw comes they'll be out of there before the Bat pack of Bounty Hunters can make their way through. Three months of boredom until their next heist, hunting nothing more exciting than some game for the stewpot.Jason Todd has made the kind of mistake you don't get to make twice. He's lost his horse and any chance of actually taking in the outlaws with the rest of his pack trapped on the wrong side of the mountain. His only hope is they make his death a quick one. Slade offers the closest thing to a way out; he pretends to be Slade's Omega for the winter and they won't kill him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skalidra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/gifts).



Winter follows in Slade Wilson’s hoofprints as he rides back to camp.

Snow’s coating the path they had made through the woods, turning the flank of his bay stallion piebald and hiding the traps from sight. Better, it meant the pass would be snowed over for the next three months.

No Pinkertons would be able to spread word and, though the Bat family of bounty hunters were known for their suicidal devotion to the hunt, they couldn’t move mountains out of the way no matter how hard they tried. Three months lying low, then they’d keep riding west.

They always rode west, away from the law, towards freedom, but it was clear as the smell of snow on the air; eventually the wilderness was going to run out. Some of the other outlaws were holding out hopes that eventually they’d steal enough to buy a small plot of land, settle down and raise a family without the law ever troubling them again. Slade wasn’t as naïve; he didn’t ride as an outlaw for some poorly thought-out dream, he’d been a bounty hunter before he was an outlaw and things hadn’t changed much. No matter which side of the law you were on there was always someone paying to have someone else killed.

Slade rides slow between the black-barked pines, better to be slow than to have to replace a horse because they broke a leg on a root hidden under the snow. The scratches on the pine bark look like wolves, they were Blake’s idea. They wouldn’t fool a Bat but it would dupe any casual hunter into avoiding the area. They would be long gone by the time the Bats cleared the pass. Today was their last chance.

As his horse canters into camp Slade knows he has nothing more to look forward to than a winter spent trying to keep the camp alive. The thaw would get them out of the mountains before the Bats could get in, but they would be reliant on what supplies they had managed to grab as they fled and whatever they could hunt.

Joy. Three months of hunting nothing more dangerous than a deer for the communal stew pot or a wayward bear. Given the choice between the safe boredom of hiding out and the exciting danger of a shootout with a gang of bounty hunters Slade wasn’t sure he wanted to hide, but he wasn’t the one that made the decision. As long as Luthor kept giving him his cut he could keep his little pack of outlaws the way he pleased. Once the cash dried up, he’d pack up in the night and leave, same as he always did.

He gives a nod of acknowledgement to the lookout as he hitches his horse alongside the other steeds of the gang. Roman Sionis is nursing a new bullet wound and new grudge if Slade’s right. He’s got his mask pulled up so the black skull print covers everything but his malevolently gleaming eyes.

“I miss something exciting?” Slade asks and gestures to the shot. “Or did you just screw up hunting so bad you shoot yourself?”

Sionis growls and jerks his head back towards the hunting lodge they’d taken over as a hideout.

“You’re welcome to see the poisonous streak of piss for yourself.” He snorts.

Slade decides he might as well wander over, exchanging an acknowledging nod with the camp cook Wintergreen as he does so. Whoever had the hunting lodge first built out of the dark barked pine logs had thought an Indian style totem pole lent the lodge a bit of gravitas. Tied to the bottom of it like a savage’s human sacrifice in a cheap adventure novel is a prisoner trying not shiver in the snow and looking madder than a cut snake. Slade leans against the logs of the hunting lodge and looks him over while Wintergreen butchers a couple of rabbits on a block.

The prisoner tries to act like the flash of the knife hacking through bone isn’t affecting him and glares back. There’s a smear of blood dried across his chin and his hair is mussed up, must have been quite a fight to bring him in because there’s a bright purple bruise flowering across one cheek and there’s two empty holsters at his side. He meets Slade’s gaze fearlessly and bares his teeth.

“Well, well, as I live and breathe, a baby bat.” Slade folds his arms and stares the prisoner down. “What’s the name for that Wintergreen?”

“A pup, same as us.” Wintergreen spits. “Though this one rightly ought be called Stupid for trying to take on the whole camp by himself.”

“He hit anyone important?” Slade asks.

“Nah, just Roman.” Wintergreen shrugs.

“Thank god for small blessings.” Slade snorts.

“Baby Bat here lost his horse running the pass, nearly lost his leg running from wolves, then decides to take us all on when he stumbles into camp by _accident_.” Wintergreen adds scathingly.

“My name is Jason!” The prisoner yells.

“Pardon me for not caring!” Wintergreen replies and the prisoner growls at him.

“I’m surprised Luthor doesn’t have him making his pleas to Saint Peter right now.” Slade says.

It’s the standard treatment for anyone who disrupted their operations. How far he was willing to stick their collective necks out for a thin streak of piss like Roman’s hurt pride was another matter. The Bats were fiercely protective of their own and it would lead to more trouble down the line. Luthor was walking a fine line between being violent enough inspire fear and being too violent to do business with.

Wintergreen shrugs.

“Thing is, killing an Omega don’t sit right with most of the boys.” Wintergreen tells him. “And killing one of the Bat’s Omegas…”

“He doesn’t own me!” Jason yelps.

“An _unclaimed_ Omega.” Wintergreen says pointedly. “With no Alpha to fight if someone wanted to claim him as their own. Are you done digging yourself deeper boy or should I fetch you a shovel?”

Jason growls at him. Slade sighs.

The outlaws included Omegas, even pups, in their numbers and they were every bit as important to the running of the business as the Alphas. Some of their best scores came from information told to a pretty Omega at a bar and no-one ever expected one to be carrying a gun. Slade isn’t surprised that his fellow outlaws are thinking too much of their own Omegas to want to shoot one, even if he fought like a hellcat.

“The pass is snowed in.” Slade tells him and sees the prisoner visibly react to the news; a tiny twitch of fear followed by a grim acceptance.  “No Bats in or out until Spring. The cavalry ain’t coming for you boy.”

Jason snarls as if to say he doesn’t need saving.

“We let him go now he’ll freeze to death. Think the Bat’d count that as us killing him?” Slade asks Wintergreen.

“Wouldn’t count on him _not.”_ Wintergreen replies. “Sionis wants to let him go into Heat and pass him around every Alpha in the camp, leave him with the bastard pup of many fathers for when the Bat finds him.”

“Try it and I’ll geld you old man!” Jason snarls.

“You’re in no position to make threats boy!” Wintergreen snaps.

“Burn in hell!” Jason screams at him.

“No wonder you’re unclaimed!” Wintergreen yells back, clearly enjoying himself. “You’ve got a mouth that ain’t fit for kissing.”  

The trapped Omega growls but Slade can’t help but smile as he looks over him. Even in the face of certain death he’s still fighting. Jason notices him looking and growls at him too. This has the opposite effect of what he wants, as Slade moves in closer rather than moving away. The snow crunches under Slade’s boots as he stands in front of the bound Omega, looking down at him. Jason’s dark eyes flit to him and, though it seems deep under layers of machismo, Slade is sure he sees a brief flicker of fear in them. Jason tries to cover it with bravado.

“Had your eyeful, pervert?” He sneers.

“Maybe.” Slade says. “Maybe I’m thinking about making a claim.”

“I’d rather die!” Jason hisses.

Slade reaches down and grabs Jason by the hair. The Omega clenches his teeth.

“Well that’s your only other option.” Slade says softly in his ear. “And don’t think it would be a quick bullet in the head either. We could leave you tied to this pole until you’re too tired to kick the wolves away, or use you as target practice, or bear bait, or maybe we’ll let Sionis have you after all. There’s plenty of ways to die ugly, remember that.”

Jason spits on him. Slade lets it harmlessly trickle down his cheek.

“Don’t be so eager to die kid.” Slade advises him and wipes the spit away with the back of his hand. “Not when you could still make it out of here alive. Your life depends on being too sweet an Omega to kill. Do you love the Bat that much you’re willing to die rather than disappoint him?”

“Fuck you!” Jason hisses at him.

“Careful, some folks around here’d consider that an invitation.” Slade says and lets go.

Jason’s teeth click together as he makes a pointless attempt to bite him. Slade chuckles. The boy has guts, Slade hopes he gets to keep them.

“Slade.” The familiar voice makes him sigh internally. The boss is back. “You better not be making decisions about my prisoner without me.”

“Just inspecting the merchandise.” Slade replies. “You thinking of expanding the business?”

“Always.” Luthor’s reply is clipped and business like, as usual. “But not with this one. He’s too bitter for my tastes.”

Jason growls at them both. Maybe it’s just him but Slade reckons his growl isn’t as powerful as it was a moment ago. Perhaps he’s started really thinking about the situation he’s in.

With Luthor the rest of the outlaws are filtering in. Slade’s known most of them from the wanted posters before they’d formed this little gang; some of them would be decent people if they didn’t prefer living outside of the law, most of them are bastards. Their eyes are cautiously hostile, weighing the pleasure of torturing a Bat against the wrath that would inevitably come down on them when it was discovered. Slade knows they are thinking if they’re going to be targeted for revenge _anyway_ they might as well go all the way...

Jason bares his teeth, wordlessly telling them that while his pack’s revenge would be delayed three months he intends to leave scars _now._ It’s enough to sway some of them, others are watching each other more than their prisoner, waiting to see if any outlaw shows signs of weakness that can be leveraged. Things aren’t looking good for the boy; it won’t be long before one of them starts thinking ‘if we _all_ agree he dies, how much blame can his ‘family’ place on _my_ head?’

“Alright, gather around you bloody shower!” Digger calls out. “Let’s get this over with.”

Luthor gives him a warning look to remind him who’s in charge but Digger is either too stupid or too impudent to care.

“Warmed them up for you.” Digger grins and pulls a mockingly elaborate bow.

Luthor gives the rest of the camp a more serious look. Everyone knows he couldn’t care less about what happened to a Bat brat stupid enough to get caught, but the ruler had to be seen to rule or his subjects might start getting ideas about taking that position for themselves.

“You know the rules.” He says bluntly, making it clear how beneath his time this was. “I have no patience for prisoners; there’s no room in this camp for people who will not work. If any of you want to spare his life, you’ll be the one responsible for him. Does anyone vouch for him?”

There are a few indistinct mutters from the watching outlaws and Jason weakly bares his teeth at them. Roman is in the front of the crowd. He winks cheerfully and draws a finger across his throat. Jason growls at him but shrinks against the post, his eyes hardening as he accepts that his last stand is going to be far from glorious.

“Anyone?” Luthor says to confirm. There is silence from his outlaws, their dark eyes hostile and gleaming with sadistic curiosity. “Well then, if…”

“Fuck you! Fuck all of you!” Jason screams.

Luthor draws his pistol and fires without turning around. The bullet makes a sound like a maddened bee as it slams into the totem pole by Jason’s ear. The wood splinters around the bullet hole, leaving the Omega with a stinging, bleeding ear. He’s half deafened by it, leaving only a high-pitched ringing in that ear. Jason yelps and hangs his head, drawing in a deep shuddering gasp. This was the end; he was going to _die_ here.

“If no-one will take him I see no reason not to…” Luthor continues.

“I’ll take him.” Slade says over him.

Jason looks up. Slade grins at him.

Luthor sighs but Slade has been in his employ for a long time; it led to something that couldn’t quite be called friendship, but included a certain amount of understanding.

‘ _You will pay for interrupting me._ ’ Luthor says without speaking.

‘ _I know._ ’ Slade wordlessly replies. ‘ _But I had to let him stew for a bit until he realized the situation he was in._ ’

‘ _You always did have a weakness for the **pretty**_   _boys._ ’ Luthor smirks mockingly. “Fine, he’s yours.” He says out loud.

Sionis snarls at being thwarted and Slade snarls back, reminding him that his teeth were sharper. The smaller Alpha's eyes narrow but he backs down. No-one wanted to fight Slade for dominance; he’d crippled Alphas for not submitting to him quickly enough.

Slade snorts and strides back to the prisoner tied to the totem pole. A few splinters from the gunshot have cut into his ear and neck, drawing a few beads of blood. Jason growls at him, hunching his shoulders defensively in the posture of a desperate Omega ready to fight to the death. Slade grabs him by the chin, Jason tries to bite, and Slade forcibly holds his jaw closed.

“Enough.” He orders.

Jason glares and keeps struggling to pull free of his hand.

“ _It’s me or Roman Sionis._ ” Slade hisses in Jason’s ear, making sure his lips can’t be read. “ _And you remember what Roman wants to do with you._ ”

Jason nods a fraction.

“ _Good. Now I might be a murderer but I’m no rapist. I cannot say the same for Mr. Sionis.”_

“I am going to kill you all.” Jason manages to hiss back.

“I thought that Bats always bought in their quarry live.” Slade says with a smirk.

“I won’t.” the Omega hisses and his dark eyes shine with hate. Slade likes him more and more.

“Well now, and here I was thinking baby Bats were as neutered as their sire.” He says calmly and angles the Omega’s head in his grip to get a good look at his neck. Not a scratch on it, apart from the speckles of splinters. It doesn’t look like any Alpha has even attempted a bite. Jason growls at him. “I’m glad to see that’s not the case.”

“If you say you like an Omega with spirit I will _end you!_ ” Jason growls as Slade lets go of his jaw to undo the ropes.

“Mhmm, what do you picture death threats achieving with you planning on killing me anyway?” The Alpha says with amusement.

“Kill you differently. Longer. Slower. More creatively.” Jason promises as the ropes around his waist slacken. His arms and legs are still tied or he’d be tempted to run, or fight.

Slade chuckles.

“Are you sure you’re not in the wrong pack?” He asks. “Ol’ Leatherwing is still in charge right? Tall, gloomy bastard who wouldn’t know a good time if it bit him on the ass.”

Jason snorts in a way that suggests he stifled a laugh.

“I’m sure that’s been tried.” He replies.

Slade grins and undoes the last rope. Jason flexes his stiff wrists. Before Jason can make some fleeting break for freedom the Alpha picks him up and slings him over his shoulders like a dead deer. The Omega thrashes but his legs are still tied and Slade is holding his wrists together in one of his own hands.

“Oh _fuck_ you!” Jason growls.

 _“_ Remember what I said about some folks considering that an invitation?” Slade replies and Jason tries futilely to bite him. The Alpha smirks. “Or would you rather I carried you over the threshold like a blushing bride-to-be?”

“I’d rather walk, you absolute ass!” Jason snarls.

“And have to watch you contemplate suicide by wolves over the pleasure of my company?” Slade snorts.

Jason growls wordlessly at him and Slade gives the rest of their merry band of outlaws a nod as he steps past them.

“Good evening Gentleman.” He says and sees the answering gleam of dark amusement in their eyes as he carries the prisoner to his room. He lets them think what they want regarding his plans for the bound Omega.

Jason doesn’t stop growling the whole way but he stops fighting. Conserving his strength. Good, Slade would rather handle a reckless Omega than a stupid one. At least his training isn’t being entirely wasted.

The hunting lodge made for a good hideout; they’d driven off the gang that held it on their last pass through the mountains and bribed some locals to keep it clear. Instead of the usual tents there were rooms divided up depending on your place in the pack’s hierarchy. Slade ranked high enough to not have to share his den with a roommate, at least before today. He bars the door behind him, before putting Jason down against the wall instead of on the bed like he was expecting.

The Omega glares up at him with steel in his dark eyes and his teeth defensively bared. Slade looks him over thoroughly.

“Stay still.” He orders and Jason growls.

The growl turns to an outright snarl as Slade pulls out a knife. Jason tries to twist away from him and Slade has to grab him by the wrists and pin him against the wall to cut the ropes holding his arms together. Once his hands are free Jason immediately swings at Slade and scrambles away, untying the ropes around his ankles as he does so. He jams himself into the corner where the avenues of attack were limited and rises into a defensive crouch. Slade lets him.

“Is this supposed to be the part where I throw myself into your arms with gratitude?” The Omega snarls, his eyes darting around the room as he hunts for anything that would give him the advantage in a fight.

“This is supposed to be the part where you realize that you _lost_ , boy.” Slade snarls back. “You’re going to have to learn how to live with that or stop living altogether. Those are the only options.”

Jason snarls wordlessly at him, a purely instinctual reaction of mindless aggression. It’s defensive though, not aggressive, so Slade doesn’t feel the need to snarl back. The Omega’s a cornered animal right now, alone in a strange pack with a strange Alpha. Slade can’t begrudge his aggression. The Omega’s afraid; Slade’s instinct is to comfort not dominate. He lets Jason keep some distance between them, the Omega’s shoulders still defensively hunched.

“The northern pass will unfreeze enough to allow passage in two months. The southern passage won’t unfreeze for three.” Slade tells him. “Try and escape and you can freeze any time before then.”

Jason growls wordlessly and squares his shoulders to make himself look bigger.

“Fine.” He says with a stubborn look in his eyes.

Slade sighs.

There was a reason he hadn’t shared his bed here with any Omega longer than a week; he liked his things in order without having to worry about making sure an Omega felt comfortable. The kisses were nice while they lasted but he couldn’t hide his nature and they always left once they saw what he really was. Having to look out for someone else for three months was going to be rough, and he had to be the one looking after Jason. As soon as any of his fellow outlaws thought he wasn’t defending the Omega they’d tear him apart like a pack of rabid wolves. Slade can’t help but feel this was a lesson Wintergreen had manipulated him into to teach him responsibility. Speaking of Wintergreen…

“You hungry?” Slade asks the Omega.

Jason’s eyes briefly flicker down. It’s a tiny flicker of a tell, most wouldn’t bet on it at poker, but it’s a grudging admission.

“Fine. Stay here and don’t break anything.” Slade orders, not thinking it worth the effort to put the weight of the Alpha voice to the order.

Jason continues to glare and growl at him as Slade closes the door and locks it behind him. There’s going to be a fight between them sometime soon but for now he’s supposed to act like a victorious Alpha who had won an Omega as his trophy. Luckily, he doesn’t need to fake confidence. Even if the Omega doesn’t believe it Slade has him right where he wants him. Slade’s known he wanted him since he first saw him tied to the pole; everything else had been according to plan.

It was going to be a long time until the spring thaw. Keeping the baby Bat alive until then looked to be enough of a project to keep himself entertained.

The one-eyed Alpha ducks into the cramped smoke-stinking space that was the kitchen. The hunting lodge included a smoking and curing room as well as a rough tannery away from the food preparation area. If he went hunting they’d have both meat and hide to use through the winter.

Wintergreen is alternately adding a few splashes of wine to the stew and finishing off the rest of the bottle himself. He gives a brief nod of acknowledgement as Slade enters.

“Evening.” Slade greets him.

The camp cook had been an outlaw longer than most of the others had been alive, he’d been the one that picked Slade up after his dishonorable discharge from the army and shown him the ropes of being an outlaw. Slade has special privileges; anyone else who stepped foot in Wintergreen’s ‘private kingdom’ as he called it ended up pinned to the wall by knives. Even Luthor wouldn’t dare cross him.

“’bout time you showed up.” Wintergreen says without looking up. “I take it the boy’s hungry.”

Slade nods. Wintergreen ladles up a bowl of the communal stew. Whatever vegetables they had bought with them and too little of the rabbit meat; it was going to be lean rations for the rest of winter. At least Wintergreen had the sense to bring in vegetables that would keep, otherwise they’d be making do with pine needle soup all winter.

“You wanted me to take him.” Slade says as he takes the bowl. “You set things up so I could see what he was made of before Luthor showed up.”

“That I did.” Wintergreen nods.

“Did I ask you to stick your nose in my love life?” Slade retorts.

“Ah, we’re friends, I’ll do it for nothing.” Wintergreen replies undaunted. “It’ll be good for you, looking out for someone other than yourself for a change.”

“I look after you don’t I?” Slade replies.

“If you think you’re the one looking after me you got your head on backwards.” Wintergreen snorts, patting his pockets down. He finds a small splinter of light in his sleeve and plucks it free. “Here.”

“A needle?” Slade snorts. “Think I’m going to be doing a bit of sewing with the boy?”

“For the splinters.” Wintergreen scoffs. “The boss isn’t going to be wasting good medicine on him if anything gets infected.”

“Right.” Slade takes it. Wintergreen knows him well enough not to be waiting around for thanks.

It doesn’t escape Slade’s notice that Wintergreen has deliberately given him one large bowl of stew and a single spoon. He guesses the old man had more romance in him than Slade thought.

Slade returns to the room and shifts the bowl into one hand as he opens the door. Jason leaps and lashes out with his improvised weapon. His reaction time is commendable, he might have even made contact if he had picked a better target than Slade’s blind side. There was a reason the outlaw wore a patch rather than a glass eye; he didn’t consider it a weakness. If anything, he was more aware of incoming attacks on that side.

Slade’s hand moves with the speed of a snake striking as he intercepts the blow and reverses it. The air rushes out of Jason’s lungs as the butt of his improvised stake hits him in the solar plexus. He hits the bed as he goes down.

The outlaw puts down the bowl of stew with not a drop spilled.

“Interesting.” He says. “You went for a blade not a gun.”

He picks up the rough pick-like point Jason has made from snapping a leg from the hat rack. So much for not breaking anything. He tosses it into the corner.

“Gun’d make too much noise.” Jason groans and tries to stand.

“Stay _down_ boy.” Slade orders roughly and grabs him by the throat.

Jason snarls and tries to bite him. Slade growls, a much deeper and more threatening sound, and Jason briefly stills out of instinct.

“Save me from those that bite the hand that feeds. I am trying to help you.” Slade snarls. “Now hold still.”

Jason’s eyes are disbelieving but he at least stops trying to fight him as Slade digs the splinters out of him with the needle, then wipes away the blood with a handkerchief and wraps the bloodied splinters in it to be disposed of later. As soon as he finishes and lets go Jason immediately scrambles back to the corner again, hunches up and starts growling. Slade picks up the bowl and watches the way his eyes instinctively flick to it.

“Splinters are done, come out and eat now.” Slade says as gently as he can muster.

“You trying good cop, bad cop on me?” Jason asks with an unimpressed snort.

Slade snorts and smiles genuinely.

“First time anyone’s ever called me a cop.” He laughs. “Eat the damn stew boy, or I’m force feeding it to you.”

Jason growls. Damn Wintergreen’s meddling, this setup looks a lot more suspect than Slade was intending. The Alpha’s ancestral role was to win meat for the Pack; showing up with food was an essentially romantic gesture even if Slade didn’t intend it to be. If he was trying to make it romantic he would have showed up with something better than rabbit stew.

He takes a spoonful to show it’s not poisoned, then put the bowl down on the floor and backs away.

Jason’s eyes narrow but they still flit to the bowl. With the defensive crawl of a starved child he edges towards it and pulls the bowl towards him.

“Stay.” Slade snaps at him as he moves to take it back to the corner and Jason growls at him but doesn’t return to the corner as he eats. It’s progress.

Jason’s eyes never leave him as Slade pointedly doesn’t look at him; the Omega stays tensed to retreat back to the more defensible position if Slade as much as moves a hand too quickly. Slade endures it; he’d learn manners quickly enough. Jason was far from the first street Omega he’d met; he’d mated plenty of street Omegas too.

Life was rough for an Omega without the privilege of a wealthy family to look after them; they grew tough or they ended up currency. It was an endless source of delight for Slade to take the warriors they had to be and show them he was an Alpha worthy of their submission. Part of the courtship was to not try and force a relationship. He’d let Jason come to him.

The Omega is clearly considering overeating just to deny him the food but eventually concedes with a growl and pushes the bowl back towards him. Slade lets Jason return to the safety of the corner before he picks it up. The Omega has eaten all the meat out of the bowl and there had been precious little of it to begin with, but Slade doesn’t let that pull a reaction from him. He would be providing plenty of meat in the future.

Jason may not be hungry anymore, but he still watches warily as Slade eats. Slade appears to ignore him, though his skin prickles with awareness of being watched, you didn’t last long as an outlaw unless you developed eyes in the back of your head. Observing him wasn’t the best use of time, Slade thinks as he finishes the thick soup, but that was Omega instincts for you. There was no denying he was the biggest threat in this room, so that was what Jason focused on. The fact that Slade clearly didn’t mean him harm didn’t overwrite years of instinct. If he’d been better trained or better focused on his training he’d already be looking for something he could use to get the upper hand but that was the Alpha in him talking.

Slade wipes the last drips of stew out of his beard and lets his eyes fall on the Omega. Jason flinches then looks angry at himself for doing it. Slade smirks and the Omega’s eyes narrow as he squares up to fight over it.

“What happens now?” Jason demands to know.

“That’s up to you now, isn’t it?” Slade says and stands.

Jason flinches again, pressing back into his safe, defensible corner. Slade seemingly ignores him as he steps past him and Jason defensively bares his teeth.

“I’m going to bed.” Slade says and draws back the winter covers of layered blankets and furs. The bed’s large enough to sleep two, part of Luthor’s concessions for the skilled was rooms that accommodated a mated pair. “You are too.”

Slade pulls the layers of blankets and furs back. Jason’s eyes narrow and his growl grows louder.

“No.” He says firmly and shuffles a little in his corner. “I…don’t need to sleep.”

“You do.” Slade immediately replies. “Keeping Bat hours around here’s a good way to knifed.”

“I can sleep here.” Jason bites back.

“You’ll freeze.” Slade snorts. “And the Boss isn’t going to spare you meds to cure your self-inflicted stupidity.”

“Then give me some blankets and I’ll sleep on the floor.” Jason says with his shoulders squared and a challenge in his eyes.

“Your survival is dependent on being seen as mine. They will strike you down the moment they think they don’t have to fear my retaliation. Separate beds will encourage this.” Slade replies coldly.

“I’ll fight them!” Jason snarls, his nostrils flaring with battle-readiness.

“You’ll die, accomplishing nothing.” Slade replies, utterly unimpressed. “Sleep. Save your energy for fights that matter.”

“I’m not going to have sex with you!” Jason snarls bluntly.

“Fine, good for you. Now get in the damn bed.” Slade growls back. “You’re letting the heat out.”

Jason blinks and looks at him in surprise.

“I already told you Boy. I ain’t no rapist.” Slade snorts and rolls over so his back is facing towards the Omega.

In someone else it would be a sign of trust and vulnerability; here it shows the Alpha doesn’t care enough to feel threatened by him.

Jason finds his hands have been clenching into fists, he forces them to relax. Before he can talk himself out of it he takes a few quick steps towards the bed. The room is already dropping in temperature and the thick layered blankets and furs look welcoming.

For a fraction of a second Jason watches the Alpha’s back rise and fall before he climbs in next to him. The warmth is instant and Jason realizes just how cold it had been in the room.

He fights down the instinctive desire to put his arms around the Alpha’s body for the heat and instead simply shuffles closer until his back is touching Slade’s. There is a soft snort of satisfaction and the Alpha draws the blankets over them both.

Jason tenses but there is no other movements from Slade and no sounds but his steady breathing. Jason stays on the wary alert, ready to defend himself if he needs to, but as time passes with nothing happening his tiredness starts to wear on him.

He promises himself he will wake up if anything happens and lets himself fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Jason’s dreams are…confused.

In his mind he is walking at the side of a massive shaggy maned grey wolf the size of a horse.

He has his rifle in his hands, he is hunting something across this icy forest, and the wolf walks in step with him. He could almost reach out and touch it, but he knows instinctively that it is not a tame wolf.

It walks close enough for him to see its breath mist in the air and the flakes of snow in its fur and smell the musk of its scent. At any second the wolf could turn and bite off his head. They aren’t hunting together, just in the same direction, but as he walks in step with it Jason can’t help but feel relieved it’s there.

The feelings blend and blur into each other, mixing feelings of danger and comfort until he isn’t sure what he feels. The dream ends before he sees what they are hunting.

When Jason wakes up he finds he’s shifted in the night and has ended up unconsciously crawling into the Alpha’s arms. He’s ended up resting in the crook of Slade’s shoulder, right up against the scent gland of the throat. He’s nuzzled up against it enough in his sleep that the woody musk of the Alpha’s personal scent has seeped into his skin.

One of Slade’s arms has curled protectively around his back, holding him in place. One of Jason’s hands has slipped under the Alpha’s shirt in his sleep. It is resting in the wiry white curls of the Alpha’s chest hair. He can feel the sedate pulse of the Slade’s beating heart under his fingertips as the Alpha’s chest rises and falls.

Jason is disgusted by himself. He hadn’t been Slade’s prisoner for longer than a day and he was already getting cuddly with his captor.

He fights the urge to leap away and find a muddy puddle to roll in to wash away the smell. While he might have managed to get himself into this mess without waking Slade any sudden movements now would surely wake the Alpha.

Instead he takes the opportunity to take a better look at him. Jason hasn’t seen the outlaw outside of the sketches on Bounty Posters and they haven’t done him justice. The grizzled Alpha was handsome enough, he supposes, in that weathered mountain-man kind of way. His beard and hair aren’t pure white like the posters suggested but the many subtle shades between black and white that got called salt-and-pepper. The most striking feature in person as well as on the posters was the eyepatch that made Slade look like the dashing rogue in a regency novel; he’d never been seen without it.

Jason’s fingers twitch. He might as well pretend the compromising position he was in was something he intended and satisfy his curiosity. He reaches for the eyepatch. As soon as his fingertips brush the stiff fabric Slade’s hand tightens around his wrist. Jason hadn’t seen it move.

“Don’t do that.” The Alpha says and opens his good eye. He sits up and Jason slips off his chest. Either the Alpha hadn’t noticed the position they’ve ended up in or, more likely, he didn’t care.

Jason snorts and pulls his hand back.

“I was just curious.” He says defensively, his hackles already raising.

“Curiosity killed the cat.” Slade says and yawns.

“But satisfaction brought it back.” Jason replies snidely.

Slade snorts and gets up. Jason goes skittering out of the bed to avoid being put in a vulnerable position. He goes from being cuddled against an Alpha’s warm body to the early morning winter chill of the rest of the room. His nostrils flare but that’s the only visible sign of discomfort. Slade had hoped a good night sleep would mellow the Omega out more.

It hadn’t been hard for Slade to wait for the stubbornly _not_ shivering Omega to fall asleep so he could ease him into a proper sleeping position. That Jason had immediately nuzzled against his throat once the Alpha’s arms were around him was just luck. Scent compatibility was unpredictable. Slade always slept better with an Omega curled against him and he hadn’t wanted to have to force Jason into position.

The boy didn’t accept yet that his life depended on being Slade’s.

Without Slade’s scent on him the other outlaws would become suspicious. If they weren’t made to fear Slade’s retribution they’d take revenge on the bounty hunter. The more Jason tried to distance himself, the more he put himself in danger. Still he was a heartbeat off hiding in the corner again like a beaten animal. He’d learn or die. Slade hoped it was the first one. He liked the kid, he’d fought hard to survive, it would be a shame for him to fail now.

He yawns, stretches and surveys his limited wardrobe, picking out something he won’t miss, and tossing it at Jason. The Omega growls and backs away from the clothes like they’re a live snake. Slade sighs.

“Put the damn clothes on boy.” He orders. “Walking around in what you’ve got is just asking to be shot. I ain’t asking nicely twice.”

Jason growls at him. Slade turns and fixes him with a stern look.

He didn’t mind the bounty hunter’s outfit personally, now that Jason had slept in it the Bat’s black leathers had been covered in _his_ scent which felt like a petty victory. Others wouldn’t be so forgiving of someone dressed as the enemy and it wasn’t like he had anything prepared. Tetch knew how to sew, he could probably be bribed to run things in so they’d fit. Slade would ask him later.

“Don’t think I’m above stripping you by force if I have to. Think long and hard if this is a fight you want to be having.” He says, picking up the clothes he was going to wear himself and leaving the room to freshen up.

With the locked door behind him Slade could almost pretend Jason wasn’t here while he performed his morning ablutions. Earlier rising outlaws had already broken the crust of ice on the water barrel when they’d gone to feed the horses and it hadn’t had time to refreeze yet. Normally he would have been up earlier but he was curious about what the boy would do when he woke up.

The sheet of polished steel they’d bolted to the wall as makeshift mirror serves well enough for him to tidy up his beard with his straight razor. It would be weeks before he let the Omega into the room where razorblades were kept and months before he was permitted to handle them. He’d either let Slade shave him or grow a beard, Slade didn’t care which. Letting him get his hands on a blade was just asking for trouble.

By the time Slade decides to wander back in Jason has decided that putting on the clothes is better than fighting and getting stripped, if only because of what it might lead to. The clothes are too big for him, not by enough to be a hazard, but enough to make it clear they are _Slade’s_ and that satisfies a primal itch in him to mark the Omega. Having the scent of an unclaimed Omega so close while he slept sparked his Alpha drive to claim and protect, thankfully unlike some outlaws he could control himself when needed.

The way Jason jolts guiltily when Slade enters the room indicates he was hesitating about putting the clothes on. The collar is half done-up and his hair is still a mess; he looks debauched. Slade’s inner Alpha growls.

Jason flashes his fangs briefly at the look before his eyes are drawn to Slade’s hands and his tongue subconsciously flickers out to wet his lips. He’s hungry, but more importantly, he’s already accepted Slade as his provider. That will make things easier. Whether consciously or not he will be looking for Slade for more than just food.

“Come here.” Slade says without making eye contact and even though he isn’t making it an order Jason still bares his teeth at him. “Your hair’s a mess.”

Jason glowers but roughly combs his hair back with his hands. It doesn’t help much.

“I don’t need you to groom me.” He says and bares his teeth in warning. Social grooming re-established pack hierarchy, Slade’s instinct was to show the Omega he would be cared for, but he can ignore that instinct.

“Boy…” Slade growls.

Jason growls back at him.

“Just stay close.” Slade sighs.

Jason growls louder.

“Arm’s length boy, or you’re not leaving this room.” Slade is blunt.

Jason snarls but draws closer with quick, wary steps. He hunches his shoulders, his upper lip raised just enough to show a warning flash of fang as his dark eyes watch keenly for danger. He reluctantly steps within arm’s reach of the Alpha.

He’s clearly unsettled and Slade feels an instinctive desire to put his arm around Jason and pull him closer to reassure the Omega. Pity actually doing it would have the opposite effect, he can’t leave Jason in the corner all winter. Besides if he stays in the room the Omega would probably try to kill him again, and as _invigorating_ as a tussle like that can be, it wasn’t making any progress in getting Jason to trust him. Next time he might not be able to keep his composure…

As he takes a last tentative step to Slade’s side Jason makes a grumbling sound like a grumpy puppy and Slade has to stop himself from laughing at him. Something tells him Jason isn’t the type of Omega to react well to being told they’re adorable.

“If anyone looks crooked at you I’ll tear their eyes out.” Slade tells him.

He means for it to a light-hearted reassurance, but Jason looks at him with quiet horror. Sure, if anyone _did_ eye the Omega too sharply Slade _would_ rip out an eye or two, but that wasn’t why he made the offer.

“...Thanks?” Jason says drily. “But I don’t need you to protect me.”

Slade snorts.

“Without my protection, you’ll last the length of the hallway, remember?” He says.

“I know _that._ ” Jason rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying I can fight my own fights.”

“I’m sure you can.” Slade says and doesn’t sound sincere enough for Jason.

“What? I’m tough. I’ll kick your ass old man!” Jason retorts and Slade smirks.

“I’m shaking in my boots.” He says in an emotionless monotone, and notes Jason has relaxed.

“Yeah well you should be.” Jason puffs out his chest with a faint smile lurking on his lips.

Unconsciously he’s moved close enough to Slade’s side to be walking in step with him rather than a careful distance behind. If he wanted to Slade could reach out and wrap an arm around his shoulders, pull him close and run his fingers through his hair...

With the eyes of the curious eyes of the other outlaws on them Jason bares his teeth but he keeps a closer eye on them than the Alpha he’s walking with. Slade’s sure he’s used to staying close to a more intimidating Alpha by now. He eyes the other outlaws with a wordless warning.

The Omega smells like Slade’s personal scent and is wearing his clothes, let them draw their own conclusions as to how it happened, but Jason is clearly _his_ now. Anyone as much as looking at him too long without permission would be challenging Slade, and the outlaws learnt not to challenge Slade. Outlaws that didn’t acquired fresh scars if they were stubborn and stupid or, if they were suicidal on top of it, Slade tore out their throats with his teeth. No-one challenged Slade twice and lived.

They are undisturbed as they descend to the ground floor. A few other outlaws are milling around but they keep clear of Slade and his dangerous new toy.

“Stay close.” Slade orders and Jason nods tersely before Slade shoulders his way past the waiting outlaws and into the kitchens.

Wintergreen isn’t there this time, no doubt he was planning something else to embarrass him. The old Alpha was quite a romantic even though he was unbonded himself. Slade didn’t appreciate the meddling in his love life, or the implication he needed a Cyrano feeding him lines to get an Omega to like him.

The kitchen isn’t empty though, the camp’s Omegas are appraising Jason with keen eyes. There weren’t as many of them as Alphas but the Omegas the outlaws _did_ have were homicidally focused on the wellbeing of their pack. Every one of them would kill for their mate and pups and most of them had.

“Slade, tell Wintergreen if we have to chop any more vegetables we’re going to chop _him_ up next.” One of the more troublesome Omegas immediately calls out to him.

“Right, and who put you in charge of the kitchen?” Slade asks. Eddie really was insufferably fussy even for an Omega.

“He put himself in charge.” Tetch protests from the corner and there is a ripple of amusement among the rest of the room.

Jason waits tensed, aware of how the other Omegas eyes are drilling into him. damn it Slade, he just had to drop him into the most dangerous part of the Pack with no warning didn't he? Things were much easier for Alphas, they just had to beat up or get beaten up by other Alphas to make a place in a Pack. Omegas were much more dangerous for someone like him.

They watch with eyes sharp, like prisoners in a yard hunting for any sign of weakness in the new meat. Their dark eyes shine with the reminder that a kitchen was a place with many weapons and ways of disposing of a body. A few have not-so-subtly stopped peeling vegetables in a way that reminds Jason they are holding knives, not threatening him, not _yet,_ but knives all the same.

No-one had tried to argue that an Omega was a naturally innocent creature since Crazy J first went to trial. He’d argued that he wasn’t evil, just an innocent young lamb that had been led astray by the big, bad Alphas. Then, before anyone could stop him, he’d killed the judge in front of the jury and laughed over the corpse.

Bruce had taken it personally, seeing as he was the one who delivered him to that trial in the first place. Jason felt life would be better all-around if Bruce had put a bullet between the Omega's eyes, but the Alpha felt some perverse desire to see justice done. Jason privately thought that the bounty hunter needed it to prove he stood for something more than the outlaws he hunted. They’d argued about it often, and the outlaw Omega’s unerring ability to slip the noose only made things worse. No matter how many of them died in the attempt Crazy J’s gang always managed to break the boss out before he could swing.

The other Omega’s eyes narrow and his nostrils flare as if he has taken in an unpleasant scent as he notices Jason.

“Looks like you’ve finally seen fit to introduce your new fucktoy to the rest of the family.” The Omega drawls.

Jason resists the urge to press closer to his Alpha for safety. Slade wasn’t really his Alpha, he couldn’t rely on the outlaw to protect him. It wasn’t like he couldn’t fight his own fights, he certainly _could_ but people forgot Alphas fought to submission, Omegas fight to the death. An Alpha’s threat was clear, if no less dangerous for it, but if an Omega thought you were threatening their _family,_ nothing could protect you. It was the reason they weren’t allowed to vote, too temperamental, too _vengeful._

He shows a bit of tooth in a warning snarl when the other Omega looks at him.

“So you’re Slade’s new bitch.” The Omega snorts and leans in _far_ too close to them for Jason’s comfort. Instinct screams he’s in danger. He has to fight the urge to lash out and get the other Omega out of his threat radius.

“Maybe.” Jason retorts as tension builds in him. His fingers are curling into fists at his sides, even as the other Omega’s eyes flicker away to his, no, not _his_ Alpha, he has to remind himself. Slade seems unimpressed even though the other Omega is well within threat range for them both.

“And here I thought an outlaw of your reputation could afford a _pretty_ boy.” The other Omega sneers and Jason punches him.

He can’t help it; it’s the same smug _tone_ he’s heard his whole life. He can’t feel anything but a burning hatred for it.

Jason knows he’s no great beauty, he’d never be called the bloom of anyone’s delight, but he couldn’t afford it. The wilting blossoms in their ivory towers had never fought the dogs for the edible garbage and it showed. Whenever one of them got brought down to street level they ended up dead-eyed ghosts, hollowed out by the opium, being passed around like currency while they waited for their owner to give them their next hit. It was safer to fight the dogs.

He had to live with the fact that stopping himself from being abducted, drugged and raped meant he wasn’t considered pretty. That didn’t meant he wouldn’t throw hands at any stuck-up bitch looking down their nose at him for it.

His fist hits hard enough to draw blood and the other Omega is slammed back against the kitchen table. He snarls, wiping the dribble of blood from his upper lip with the back of his hand. At that moment the tunnel vision of his rage fades and Jason remembers where he is. This wasn’t a bar brawl in the streets of home, this was enemy territory and the watching eyes are on him. A ripple of amusement runs through the watchers, there are a few chuckles and one cheerfully calls out ‘break his arm!’

Slade rests his hand on Jason’s shoulder. In what he can read of the Alpha’s expression he looks pleased. Maybe even proud.

The other Omega spits blood onto the floor.

“Keep your _bitch_ on a leash, Slade.” He hisses.

“I am.” Slade replies, the quiet threat under his words silencing the bleeding Omega, if only temporarily.

The other Omega snorts and tidies his outfit. Perhaps it’s the outlaw manner to ignore the little scuffles, Jason thinks, or maybe he’s just used to being punched in the face. He pulls out what looks like a green silk handkerchief to stem the flow of blood from his nose.

“Remember, Wintergreen, vegetables, threat of mutilation.” The Omega says with his voice a little muffled.

“Would something else to chop up please his majesty?” Slade says. He still hasn’t removed his hand from Jason’s shoulder.

“Please.” The other Omega groans. “You know my exceptional intellect needs proper nutrition to function.”

“Hiding out is hiding out Eddie.” Slade snorts. “Ain’t no two ways about it.”

“And if I have to suffer for this long again I’ll drop the noose around Lex’s bald head myself.” Eddie mimes strangulation with both more accuracy and enjoyment than Jason is comfortable with. “At least I have my books.” He sighs. “Now run along like a good little killer, it’s all you Alphas are good for.”

“I’m sure your mate can think of _one_ other thing Alphas are good for.” Slade raises a suggestive eyebrow and Eddie grimaces.

“Charming as ever Slade.” He says with a dripping sarcasm and turns back to the rest of the group.

The pack’s Omegas seem more relaxed now, putting the knives to their proper use rather than using them as a threat. Jason guesses Eddie must be unpopular, it takes him a moment to realize they probably thought he was _defending_ Slade. As long as he was loyal to an Alpha of the pack they’d accept him as part of it. If he’s not threatening _their_ mate or pups they wouldn’t care what he did. There’s a cold horror to that thought.

Slade tightens his grip on Jason’s shoulder.

“Come on boy.” Slade grunts. “We’re going hunting.”

Jason looks at the Alpha and realizes something. The wolf in his dream had only one eye.

It’s enough to keep him quiet as Slade fills up a flask with the ever-present pot of Pine Needle Tea and shoves some winter furs at him to put on while he saddles the horse. Lined in wolf fur, Jason notes, as he draws the hood tight around him. It’s warm even if it’s too big for him and smells like Slade. He’s going to need _so_ many baths to smell like himself again…

His breath curls white mist in the snowy air while the pack’s horses snort and pace in the stables. They were outlaw’s horses, used to running fast through pitched gunfights without flinching, not waiting around doing nothing. They were getting restless.

Jason idly looks over them and notes which ones he thinks he could steal. As soon as the spring thaw comes he’s going to take the fastest one and bolt for the pass. Bruce would be insufferable as usual, but with the sabotage he was planning they would be able to round up the whole pack of outlaws and send them to the noose…including Slade. Something in him shies away from the idea. Part of him feels like he owes the Alpha for saving his life, a larger part of him feels betraying Slade would be the last thing he ever did. Call it a gut feeling.

The bay stallion Slade’s saddling, a vicious looking bastard with one bright blue eye and a dappled coat part black and partially a bright near orange red, gives him a look Jason recognizes. He steps out of the way just in time to avoid being bitten. The horse’s teeth click just short of his arm and he snorts as if begrudgingly awarding Jason points. Jason could just about tell a chestnut from a bay and that was as much as he knew about horses, but he recognizes this one.

The general that commanded Slade’s unit commissioned the thoroughbred warhorse bred and reared for combat for his personal mount. The stallion had a pedigree longer than his arm and cost more than the soldiers under his command made in a year, then the bastard had lost it to Slade over a hand of cards. Once he’d sobered up he’d taken the charger back, but Slade kept the grudge. After he’d been discharged the outlaw had taken the horse back with extreme prejudice. Over twenty people had died, including the general, trampled by his own warhorse being ridden by the outlaw he’d lost it to. It was still the only horse Jason had ever seen with a bounty; plenty of thieves had tried to steal him back and all of them had ended up with their heads a smear against the stable wall. If animals could murder, this one would.

“Easy Ikon.” Slade mutters to the stallion. “Save it for the enemy.”

The warhorse snorts and paws at the ground with one hoof impatiently, his neck held high and proud, as Slade takes the saddle and leads him out into the yard. His ears go back as he looks at Jason and Jason finds himself wondering if anyone’s ever tried to steal him by dressing in Slade’s clothes before…

“You coming or not boy?” Slade directs the question at him and Jason’s reply of ‘but I don’t have a horse’ dies on his lips as Slade reaches a hand towards him.

Jason hadn’t ridden pillion since he was old enough to reach the saddle without a stepladder, but with a horse like Ikon the safest place to be was riding. The warhorse is already looking for a way to kick him without unseating his rider. He takes the offered hand and is barely in the saddle before Slade cracks the reins and the warhorse _bolts_ like he’s trying to bite the horizon. Jason has no choice but to wrap his arms around Slade’s waist and hold on as tight as he can to avoid falling off the horse like a child. He feels rather than hears Slade’s amused chuckle.

Ikon’s hooves eat up the distance as the stallion hits a stride faster than any horse Jason’s been on, apart from Bruce’s Mercedes. The forest looms ahead of them, the clustered pine needles covered in thick clumps of snow and the path entirely lost under the night’s snow fall. Slade doesn’t seem to be following any kind of path as much as letting the horse run. Jason guesses Slade was just as eager as his horse to be out and doing something.

The lodge fades into the winter haze behind them and the rest of the mountain stretches ahead of them. The black-barked pines pass at their sides as they head towards the pass where Jason had lost his own horse.

It had been a mistake to keep riding after the snowfall had started; the rest of his family had pulled back, but he’d been so _angry_ with Bruce. He just wanted to prove him wrong, he’d got lost in his hatred, in his hunt. He’d forgotten that he wasn’t hunting just one lone outlaw.

He couldn’t bear returning with his tail between his legs like the failure they already thought he was. He was the only Omega in the Bat’s Pack already. He was only allowed to hunt with the others because Bruce was so ‘progressive’.

Jason snorts.

Bruce was certainly egalitarian about something things; he believed all presentations to be equally capable of obeying his orders.

At first he’d been so caught up in the fact they were going to get away with it _again_ he couldn’t take it, then he couldn’t take turning back. By the time the snow really started falling he was so far past the point of no return turning back was accepting death.

Jane, may she graze in Heaven, had fought her hardest to get them through it. The mountain pass was treacherous enough in the summer, in the winter it was a nine-mile death trap. His body would be freezing at the bottom of the canyon in broken pieces if his grey nag hadn’t been as determined to live as he was. It broke his heart when she broke her legs and he had to put a bullet in her skull to end her suffering, but she’d carried him through the pass in winter, which was more than any other horse could do.

Then, then he’d been alone in the forest with the howl going up around him. He’d really thought he was going to die then. He might have had more bullets than there could possibly be wolves, but they were both faster and better trackers than humans. They could close the distance faster than he could shoot. He was sure he’d seen a couple of the lithe grey forms around the edges of the trees, herding him in, surrounding him…

Then he’d seen the lodge in the distance.

Maybe he could have lasted longer once he found the hunting lodge, climbed a tree, found a cave or something to sleep in and lived off pine bark until the pass defrosted. He could have run recon, laid traps, kept tabs, but once he’d seen the lodge all he wanted was to take one of the bastards down with him. He’d even fucked that up. If it hadn’t been for Slade he’d have ended up one of those cautionary horror stories, nothing but the breeding bitch he’d fought tooth-and-nail against being.

He still doesn’t know why the Alpha had done it. Nothing he’d read about Slade indicated he was the merciful type, quite the opposite. He’d put bullets in Omegas before, so it wasn’t his presentation that saved his hide. No, Jason is well-aware that he’s still alive because Slade wants something from him.

He just doesn’t know _what._ He’d thought sex, at first, but if that was all Slade could have gone along with Roman’s plan and taken a turn with everyone else. Hell, he could have pushed Jason down and had his way, made some flimsy justification about it being necessary. Bruce had taught him about outlaws with moral codes, how it was a mistake to try and try and use them as leverage. He’d said that because of how twisted their perceptions were they’d bend their view of reality to keep their actions within their code. Bruce didn’t seem to notice the irony in _him_ saying that.

If it wasn’t for the strange circumstances he was in Jason would have thought he knew Slade’s type. Dick called them Barbarians; Alpha’s Alphas a bit too close to their ancestral past with troubles adjusting to society. They fled to the West rather than face modernizing, a place where they could hunt and fight and fuck without worrying about needing to keep the beast on a leash. They didn’t realize the rules were rules for a reason; they were what _worked._ There were damn good reasons not to act like a caveman. In the end they all died like cornered animals.  

Slade wasn’t quite that. He was undeniably a strong Alpha and enjoying it, but he was controlled. A predator, but one that knew when to hunt and when to wait. Cunning enough to set a trap and patient enough to wait for it to be sprung. One of Dick’s Barbarians wouldn’t think that far ahead. There was no doubt Slade was dangerous, the kind of dangerous he didn’t know how to handle by himself. Bitterly he wishes that he had some way of talking to his pack on the other side of the pass. Bruce would be worse than useless, and his brothers would never find out about this if he had to smother every witness himself, but Alfred would have helped him figure out how the hell he was going to survive this.

Slade nudges him and hands him the flask of tea. It’s bitter without any honey or sugar to make it palatable, but it’s still hot and it warms his insides. Jason breathes out a billow of mist and steadies his thoughts as Ikon hits an even stride across the snow. It’s piled thickly between the pines, but the warhorse doesn’t seem to mind the rough terrain.

“You see it?” Slade asks him.

“What?” Jason asks, dragging his focus back to the ride.

“We are _hunting,_ boy.” Slade chastises with a snarl and Jason jolts, sitting up straighter in the saddle.

“Yes sir, sorry sir.” He says on instinct before he remembers Slade isn’t Bruce, isn’t his Alpha, and fights back a wave of embarrassment. Quickly he refocuses on the frozen forest around them, looking with a detective’s eye as he calls on his experiences in similar terrain. Nearly immediately he spots the tracks breaking up the smooth snow; white-tailed deer, a yearling buck. “I see it.”

“Think you can be quiet?” Slade asks.

Jason gives him an affronted look.

“Then prove it.” Slade says and pulls up the horse.

Ikon snorts, looking deceptively placid as his owner slides from his back. Jason wonders if the stories about him eating fingers are true.

Slade unslings the rifle from his back and pointedly takes the ammunition out of the saddlebags. He loads the gun as he starts following the tracks. Jason realizes he’s being left behind and slides off the horse as well. Slade gives him a warning look.

“Come on, you didn’t bring me with you to watch the horse!” Jason hisses.

“He watches himself.” Slade looks unimpressed. “I bought you with me because I don’t trust you alone. You might decide to do something stupid, like picking more fights with pack members.”

“Please. You wanted to hit him as much as I did.” Jason snorts.

“Maybe.” Slade concedes. “Don’t make it any smarter. Eddie holds a grudge.”

“And here I thought I was here to make friends.” Jason says with sarcasm dripping from his words.

Slade closes the distance between them without warning. Jason is suddenly, chillingly aware of exactly how tall the Alpha was and exactly how alone they were out here. He swallows, his throat suddenly feeling dry as Slade looks down at him.

“What do you want from me, boy?” The outlaw asks quietly.

Ikon snorts behind him, the warhorse pawing at the snow underfoot as he lowers his head. He’s trapped between two equally unyielding walls of muscle. Both of them could kill him.

Jason’s instinctive first reply, that he wants to not be killed, withers on his tongue. If that was his first priority he would be keeping his mouth shut and causing no trouble and they both knew that. Honesty’s not only his best policy, it might be the only way he’ll survive. He swallows and meets the Alpha’s gaze.

“I _owe_ you.” He says. “I want to square that debt.”

Slade snorts.

“Well, at least balance the scale a little.” Jason amends, accepting that saving someone’s life was hard to pay off in one go. “I ain’t no _hostage_ , Slade. I can do more than sit around looking pretty. Let me.”

“You know how to hunt, boy?” Slade asks him. It’s Alpha’s work, traditionally at least, but on the frontier there was no room to be picky.

Jason had been providing his own meat since he was a stray street pup, and then some. His biological sire didn’t do it, it was up to the whelp to keep his dam from starving, it was a mercy he was a lone pup. It had been attributed to Alpha hunting instinct rather than, you know, not wanting to watch his mother starve to death. ‘Sides her remaining Omega instinct seemed to be the only thing stopping his sire from snapping his neck like a barnyard chook so there’d be one less mouth to feed. At least it had before he’d presented…

Ma’d been one of those fallen Omegas hollowed by the streets, Jason suspected she’d been bought rather than courted. She was loving as long as she’d had a dose recently, but that faded with the high. He’d learnt how to take care of himself, because no-one else would. Even after he had a reliable source of food he’d been allowed to hunt; Bruce hadn’t denied him that when the rest of their pack hunted together.

Jason bares his teeth in confirmation.

“Didn’t get this far on good looks alone.” He says.

Slade looks down and him and, damn, Jason wishes he could loom half as well. Bruce turned looming into an art form, but Jason hadn’t been truly scared of him for a long time. When Bruce loomed over him he knew that at most it meant the Alpha was disappointed in him, and the worst that he could do would be to ground him.

“Fine. You can run Dog.” The Alpha says. “Arm’s length and stay quiet.”

“I _know._ ” Jason says with frustration leaking into his tone. He’s not going to run off and die in the woods by himself. He wasn’t a pup, he knew what to do on a hunt.

Dog, short for Gun Dog after the animal trained to do it, was the lowest position in any hunt, tasked with finishing off anything downed and retrieving the lighter prey like ducks. Low risk, low reward, no respect, but anyone who’d been kicked by a buck they thought was dead knew it was necessary. He Dogged better than any Alpha he knew, he could put a bullet straight between the eyes of a struggling buck from fifty paces with minimal damage to the hide or meat.

As he falls into step with the Alpha outlaw he slips into the old, familiar patterns of the hunt. He’d got his start in the cities, but somethings were the same no matter what (or who) was the prey. He’d earned his place in Bruce’s pack; he fades into the forest like a goddamn ghost. The smell of snow and pine overlays itself on the scent of his hunting partner as they follow the trail. Jason is reminded of his dream and thinks Slade wouldn’t take kindly to being told he smells like wolf. In the familiar task of finding meat for his pack he’s less wary of the Alpha at his side, less on the lookout for an attack, or trying to judge his reaction. If it wasn’t for the different scent he could almost be back on the other side of the mountains when Bruce was first teaching him how to track through snow.

It was a happy memory, one of the few he has, and he latches onto that remembered happiness like a drowning man clings to a thrown rope. He needs something to ground him now more than ever. If he lets it despair will swallow him whole, and that black pit was so easy to fall into and so hard to climb out of.

Snow crunches lightly underfoot as he stalks his quarry, marking the stronger scent where the deer had brushed up against the trees. He didn’t have the sharpest nose in the pack, Bruce could sniff a corpse and tell you what it died of, but deer was hard to miss. It was the thick, musky scent of a large heavy animal. A deer’s sense of smell wasn’t as good as a person, but they’re keeping downwind. No sense in taking unnecessary risks. The snowshoe rabbits here wouldn’t feed a pack for long, they needed bigger prey. Jason puts his full focus on the hunt. If he’s going to survive here he’s going to need to prove he’s useful for more than just sex. Maybe he’s showing off a little…

He catches himself looking back at Slade for his approval and Slade’s gentle smirk of amusement as he notices it. Jason snorts and tries not to look obviously embarrassed. He might as well stamp ‘insecure’ on his forehead. He tries to excuse it to himself by thinking that he’s just trying to prove an Omega can hunt but he’s not fooling even himself. He just needs to feel acknowledged. If he was a pup he’d be rolling over begging to have his belly rubbed. The Alpha draws closer to him and Jason grits his teeth, trying not to react to a warm body being so close. Slade’s hand rests on his shoulder.

“See it?” He asks, pressed close against Jason’s body.

He nods.

A white-tail buck is rubbing itself against a tree trunk to scratch. There’s flakes of snow trapped in its dark fur and he can see the mist billow out from where it’s breathing.

“Good.” Slade says softly, keeping his voice low enough to not alert the animal.

The faint pressure touches his fingers before Jason realizes his being handed the gun. Slade’s grip tightens warningly on his shoulders and Jason bites back his protest. He takes the gun and raises it to take aim.

“This way is better.” Slade’s hands remain on his shoulders, his hot breath by Jason’s ear as he adjusts the Omega’s stance.

Jason tries not to blush.

Damn him and his thing for a firm hand on the reins. Something about having an Alpha pressed up close and giving him orders made his dick sit up and _beg_. Too many Heat matings with older Alphas he supposes, it had trained him to enjoy this kind of instruction.

He centers the crosshairs over the deer’s head as it raises it to look at its surroundings. One large ear flicks. It’s chewing at some of the evergreen pine needles with its dark eyes attentive but unintelligent.

“Keep your arm steady.” Slade whispers in his ear. “Take your time, make sure you’ve got the kill shot. Line it up and…fire.”

A hot shiver runs over his body and Jason’s finger squeezes the trigger without his brain weighing in. The impact of the gun recoiling against his shoulder and the sound of the gunshot startle him back to his senses.

The deer snorts and jolts back, all four legs scrambling at the snow in a desperate dance as its blood splatters the snow. It tries to turn and run but doesn’t make it more than two steps before its brain registers its dead and it goes down in a tangle of limbs. Its flanks heave rapidly, desperately, for one last gasp then it falls still. He’s killed it in a single shot.

Slade whistles long and low.

“Nice shot boy.” He says and pats Jason’s shoulder.

Jason realizes he’s both blushing furiously and _incredibly_ hard as the grip leaves his shoulders.

He shakes his head to try and clear his thoughts, forcing his breath to steady as he tries to fight down the instinctive desire to present for Alpha. The Alpha doesn’t seem to have noticed, he’s focused entirely on the deer as he strolls towards the downed animal.

“Right between the eyes.” Slade laughs as he raises the deer’s head by its tiny antlers. “Didn’t know what hit him.”

Jason forces himself to calm down, his heart beating hard in his chest as he bites his cheek hard. The pain calms down his body enough for him to straighten up and try and appear normal. This is _not_ the time to be thinking about sex, especially not with _Slade_.

Slade hauls the corpse of the deer over his shoulders and Jason’s eyes are drawn to the flex of muscle under his shirt as he straightens up and _gods damn it why did he find that so attractive?!_ He’s got blood on his clothes and the deer’s feet held in one hand and Omega instinct makes Jason want to roll over and _beg_.

Jason is so wrapped up in fighting back the thought he doesn’t realize that Slade has left the gun in his hands until the Alpha is taking it from him. There’s a small fluttering feeling of loss but Jason doesn’t know what he would have done with the rifle if he’d been left it. Something stupid probably. Dying in the snow or facing down the rest of the outlaws hadn’t gotten more appealing.

Slade turns to look back down at him, jerking his head to the side in a silent order to follow. Jason numbly falls back into line behind the Alpha. The deer’s head lolls over Slade’s shoulder, bouncing against his back with every step. Blood oozes from the circular hole in the middle of its head, right between the dead black eyes. It runs down the deer’s forehead to drip sluggishly onto the snow. Its antlers are tiny peaks, like two pencils stuck in the top of its head.

Young, tender meat. He’d stopped feeling bad about killing animals a long time ago.

When you’d been poor enough to know what dog tasted like, a deer was nothing but luxury.

It was so much meat…

If he just had the gun he could make it through the winter here…

His body is moving before his mind catches up with it, his fingers reaching for the gun’s barrel before he can convince himself this is what he wants to do. He snatches at the gun barrel and Slade tries to pull it back and loses his grip. Jason’s flailing fingers knock it out of both of their reach.

The gun skids across the snow and Jason leaps for it. Slade’s faster, the Alpha’s hand tightens around his ankle. He’s yanked back in a spray of snow, trying to twist free as he flings his hand out in front of him. His fingertips scrape across the gun’s stock without taking a grip as Slade drags him backwards.

Jason twists in the snow, rolling onto his back so he can properly kick with his free leg. A scream of panic and rage leaves his mouth as he tries to fight free. He manages to kick Slade’s chest before the Alpha uses his greater bodyweight to force him down. Jason snarls, his teeth clicking as he tries to bite and misses. He tries to rake his nails across Slade’s face but the Alpha manages to grab his wrists and force both hands down. His other hand bars Jason’s throat.

Slade pins him.

The Alpha’s bodyweight presses down on Jason hard, he’s completely trapped under him. One leg kicks, a last spasm as useless as that of the downed deer now lying in the snow next to him.

Jason pants for breath after the fight, his pupils dilated with fight adrenaline and the grim acceptance that now he’s going to pay the price for his failure. The Alpha’s face is close enough to him he can feel Slade’s hot breath against his cheek as he catches his breath. There’s a snarl of his lips, teeth tightly clenched together and the look in his eye was the look of someone who could kill at the drop of a hat.

“You’ve got some nerve, Boy.” Slade growls and Jason Submits. He doesn’t think about doing it, he just does, baring his throat for Slade’s teeth.

The Alpha’s growl grows, close enough for Jason to feel it on his skin. Fuck, _fuck,_ he was getting hard. This _position_ and the Alpha scent, his body knew what submitting like this meant. A wave of heat prickles over his skin and for a moment he forgets how to breathe. The scent of Alpha, strong Alpha, has filed his world and he can’t move anymore. He’s completely helpless.

The growl fades and for a moment all Jason can think about is the weight of the Alpha’s body on him and the _heat_ of Slade’s breath against his bare neck…

The pressure lets up as the Alpha snorts and stands, brushing the snow off himself as he turns away. Jason waits on his back in the snow, submission paralysis still holding him hostage. A violent shiver that mixes shame with _disappointment_ runs over him. His heartbeat hammers in his chest. He hadn’t submitted under a pin since he was a pup, he’d thought he’d die before he gave anyone else that power over him. His body had just reacted without him thinking.

Slade could have killed him, bitten his throat straight out and _killed_ him. That was the _risk_ in submitting, that submission might not be accepted, you put your life in their hands. Gods, Slade could have done _anything_ to him and Jason would have _let_ him. He’d given him that right.

Jason hauls himself to his feet, remembering how to breathe with a gasp and bright red from embarrassment. He brushes the snow from his jacket and puts his back to a tree trunk to steady himself. His hands are shaking. A full submission would do that to you, it was completely surrendering control of your body to someone else. He gasps as he draws in a sharp breath of the icy air. The shudder that runs over him has nothing to do with the cold. He stares at the scuff marks in the snow; he doesn’t feel like his body belongs to him anymore. Even the breath rattling in his chest feels foreign. The world seems to have gone dark, he can hardly make out things around him anymore. It’s like the world has shrunk to just him, Slade and the body of the deer he’s picking up off the snow.

A click forces him to raise his head.

Slade opens the back of the gun to reload it. It was empty, he’d only loaded it with one shot, Jason realizes. If he’d taken it he would have tried firing a shot he didn’t have and had no advantage but an oddly shaped club for the necessary fight over bullets. Slade reloads the gun with a pointed ‘click’.

Jason lets his head thud back against the tree trunk and closes his eyes, expecting at any second to feel the brief pain of a bullet tearing through him. He wonders if Slade’s going to go for the head or the heart. He hopes it’s the head, like the deer. A shot through the brain would be quick at least, a shot through the heart would give him a few agonized minutes of bleeding out. Considering how badly he’d just failed Slade could decide to put a bullet in his gut and make him suffer. Gut wounds could take _days_  to kill you…

There wouldn’t be any point in taking his body back to the lodge. He’d be left there for the snow and the wolves. Bruce might not even find his body come spring…

He realizes that it’s been a long enough time between the gun loading and him closing his eyes for the Alpha to take his shot however he pleases. He opens his eyes, yeah, maybe it’s better to face this with his eyes open.

Slade’s got the deer settled back around his shoulders, the rifle held close to his chest, and a chilly disappointment in his eye. The gun’s barrel is pointing at the ground, not at him.

“You’re not going to shoot me?” Jason asks.

“You had the good sense to submit.” Slade snorts. “You’re not going to try that again.”

He’s not. Submission was a deep, instinctual thing, even thinking about what had happened made Jason’s body lock up instantly. He couldn’t try again if he wanted to.

Jason waits dumb and mute as Slade hauls the deer back over his shoulders, its fur crusted with snow, and strides off. The crisp sound of the crust of snow breaking underfoot is the only sound in his world for nearly a minute.

Slade pauses and throws a look over his shoulder at the frozen Omega.

“Come _on,_ boy.” He growls.

Jason jolts as if electrified as his body starts to move without him. He stumbles on the raked-up snow, catches himself and forces himself to stay steady as he runs to catch up. His heart is pulsing in his throat, he feels more like a dog than he has in years. A dumb, animal slave to its animal instincts. Slade _looks_ at him as he draws level and he honest-to-god _whimpers._

“Walk.” The Alpha orders and gestures with the gun.

Jason swallows and he takes the lead. He’s acutely aware of the loaded gun at his back as Slade falls into step a few paces behind him. The hair at the back of his neck is standing up on end and Alpha’s calm breathing seems to fill his ears.

He follows their footprints back across the snow, back towards the hunting lodge. Part of him wants to run, taking a bullet through the back would be better than whatever Sionis would do to him, but the post-submission stillness is still freezing his limbs. Instinctual desire to not move and instinctual desire to obey the Alpha’s orders are warring in his head, leaving little room for anything else. He feels adrift, like a puppet being moved by distant strings. He can’t even feel the cold of the snow around them. His breathing seems to echo in his ears as a wheezing corpse rattle. Time is an indistinct haze, seeming to loop into a repeating five seconds of snow underfoot following their tracks back.

It’s not until he sees Ikon that his awareness of time comes back to him. The horse looks at him and his ears go back. He snorts, raising his head high and pawing at the ground.

“There, there boy, I’ve got you.” Slade mutters, reaching out to stroke the horse’s neck as he heaves the body of the deer onto the stallion’s back. The horse paws at the ground again, clearly eager to be running again. He doesn’t seem to mind the deer corpse on his back as Slade lashes it in place.

Slade turns towards him and Jason freezes with submission stillness. He walks towards Jason, each footfall crunching on the snow, and he can’t move, can’t move at all. Slade could put the gun barrel under his chin and he wouldn’t do a thing to stop him. That was what submitting meant, it meant giving control of your life over, it meant acknowledging they were better than you. He could shake it off, he _would_ shake it off, but it would take time.

Slade rests a hand on his shoulder.

“I know why you did it.” He says softly and a shiver of dread runs down Jason’s spine. He can’t move, can’t speak, can barely breathe. Slade seems to be looking into his soul. “You were desperate and panicked, otherwise you wouldn’t have fought me over a gun without any bullets.” Slade tilts his head up so Jason is meeting his eye. “I know where you came from, I know how hard it is not to fight for any advantage you can get.”

He pulls Jason into something that isn’t quite a hug, pressing the Omega up against the scent gland in his throat. The rich, woodsy scent of the Alpha fills his nose; reminding him of the warmth and safety of this morning. Jason fights the urge to breathe in deeply and go limp in the Alpha’s arms. _God,_ Slade did smell _good._

“If you try and fight me for the gun again, I will kill you.” Slade whispers in his ear.

Jason’s throat goes dry and he manages to nod.

“Yes…Sir.” He manages to say, just stopping himself calling Slade Alpha.

“Good.” Slade’s fingers drag through his hair, the claiming gesture of an Alpha grooming their Omega and Jason shivers. “Get on the horse.”

Jason nods mechanically, his body moving stiffly as he steps towards the horse. Ikon flicks an ear as he approaches, wondering if he could bite, before deciding he wasn’t worth it with a snort. Horses were smarter than people gave him credit for and he knows the look of someone who’d been Dominated.

Slade snorts and slides into the saddle behind him, reaching over Jason’s shoulders to grab the reins. Jason stays caged in his arms all the way back to the lodge. When they reach the stables and Slade dismounts he offers a hand to help Jason down and Jason takes it without thinking. He waits frozen in the stable as Slade slings the body of the deer back over his shoulder and takes it into the lodge. Ikon decides to almost experimentally bite him; he barely feels it through the coat. It’s like his arm has been wrapped in foam instead of flesh. The stallion snorts, disappointed by the lack of response.

Slade returns with a hot bowl of vegetable soup in his hands.

“Here.” He orders softly. “Sit. Eat.”

Jason’s legs crumple and he drops to his knees in the snow. Slade chuckles and crouches in front of him. He nestles the bowl into the snow in between them and dips the spoon into it. He strokes Jason’s hair with one hand and spoons soup into Jason's mouth with the other while Jason shivers.

Slowly as the hot soup warms his insides feeling starts to return to his body. He becomes _very_ aware of how soothing having his hair stroked is, even if he stubbornly refuses to think of Slade as an Alpha of _his_ Pack. He had to have an ulterior motive, Jason reminds himself to stop himself from leaning into the touch. The submission stiffness leaving his limbs makes the muscles _ache_ from being tensed so long and the bite on his arm _hurts._ Jason frowns and rubs at it. Definitely a bruise. The sound of Slade’s chuckle makes him tense defensively.

“Glad to see your back with us.” The Alpha says, picking up the empty bowl. Jason can’t remember if he’d eaten anything. “Come on boy, we’ve still got some daylight left.”

Jason _wants_ to say something aggressive, just to reassert his independence, but he grits his teeth and just nods. Slade doesn’t mention their scuffle again as he takes Jason inside to talk with the short fussy Omega who’d been in the kitchen. Tetch had taken his measurements with a worrying intensity focused solely on the cloth, eventually agreeing to tailor a few of Slade’s clothes to better fit him in exchange for exclusive rights to the cured hide of the deer they’d just shot. Slade had agreed and asked Jason to pick out three outfits to be altered. After a brief argument in which Jason felt more like himself he was locked in the room again.

He feels both relieved and shamed to find he’s _excited_ to see Slade return with a fresh bowl of venison stew and a single spoon. This time he puts it down in front of him and lets him feed himself like last night.

“Why aren’t we eating with everyone else?” Jason asks as he nonetheless starts eating as soon as Slade puts the bowl down.

“You can eat with everyone else when you let me feed you in public.” Slade tells him.

Jason snorts, subconsciously pulling the bowl closer to him.

“Want me to give you a kiss too?” He asks sarcastically.

“Why, you offering?” Slade grins and Jason snorts. “Eat the damn stew boy.”

Jason feels heartened he hasn’t lost Slade’s protection as the Alpha finishes eating and gets ready for bed.

Slade draws back the blankets with a meaningful look. This time Jason doesn’t bother arguing against it. The snow was thickly piling up outside, they needed to preserve body heat as much as they can in the winter night. As he slowly shuffles closer to the Alpha’s body heat Slade offers him his shoulder almost reflexively.

Jason sighs. He might as well, it was apparently going to happen anyway. He stiffly lets himself settle against Slade’s chest, aware of the Alpha’s eye on him as he rests his head against the crook of the Alpha’s shoulder. Slade smirks and curls his arm around the Omega’s.

“Don’t you dare say anything.” Jason mutters and closes his eyes. He breathes out and forces himself to relax. Without meaning to he finds himself nuzzling closer to Slade’s neck. Damn it, he did smell good. It was the hot, heady scent of a truly strong Alpha. He finds himself genuinely relaxing as he trusts in the Alpha to protect him in the night. “G’night.” He mutters.

He misses the look of smug self-satisfaction that passes over Slade’s face.

“Goodnight Jason.” The Alpha replies softly and holds _his_ Omega close.


	3. Chapter 3

Jason doesn’t dream that night.

The events of the day run themselves tirelessly through his mind tying his thoughts in knots until it seamlessly becomes a nightmare. Flashes of memory loop and repeat out of sequence. Some are rendered in a nauseating, useless sharpness of detail. Some are little more than the memory of the intense burst of feeling and the sight of snow spread out in a blanket between the black-barked pines. He drifts in and out of steadily more feverish remembering, centered only by the warmth of the Alpha’s arms around him as his brain desperately hunts for a way to turn this to his advantage.

Jason gets used to things faster than he should.

He’s a practical person, he’s just adapting to his circumstances, or so he tells himself to try and stave off the disapproving specter of Bruce that always seems to be looking over his shoulder. He’d survived for years without Bruce looking after him, and he was going to survive for years more, Jason thinks bitterly whenever he feels that familiar stab of disapproving guilt.

He half-dozes and half-plans as his sleeping mind fights itself to try and worm a way out of danger. His sleep is filled with the memories of the hunt, but his mind keeps jolting him awake, as if scared by a nightmare. He has to reorient himself, reminding himself he was here in Slade’s arms before he can try to force himself to back to sleep. The Alpha’s scent is hot and good in a way that was _safe,_ and he knew he’d _survived_ but as soon as he closed his eyes he was haunted again by the snow under the pines.

He’d thought Slade would have put him down after he’d fucked up the struggle over the gun. The memory of the Alpha’s body on top of him, of the heat of his breath against his neck…He wasn’t going to be able to try again, his body froze up at the thought with the memory of the pressure at his throat choking him. He aggressively nuzzles closer to Slade in his sleep and the Alpha’s arms tighten around his shoulders.

Jason hadn’t submitted to anyone since his sire had last put his teeth around his throat, Pa’d _loved_ putting the teeth in when he thought his son was getting too uppity. It still gave him nightmares even if the bastard was long since dead and gone. He’d been shot through the head trying to escape a chain gang, Jason would have danced on his grave if he’d been given one. He had to settle for spitting in the lime pit by the prison when he had the chance. He’d been held down too many times as a kid, felt the press of teeth around his throat, and he’d been afraid, but he’d still fought them because of what they would have done if he didn’t.

For the first time he’d _really_ put his life in Slade’s hands. He didn’t _have_ to submit, sure Slade would have killed him if he didn’t, but he still had a _choice._ That a choice between death and submission wasn’t really a choice didn’t matter to the Alphas who made the laws, who considered death an entirely acceptable price to preserve an Omega’s precious purity. It was too _convenient_ for the wrong kind of Alpha. Slade _should_ have been that kind of Alpha considering where they were and what he’d done.

Instead he’d trusted Slade completely and the Alpha not only _didn’t_ fuck him right there in the snow to teach him his place, but he’d helped him down from the post-submission daze. Like it or not it was more than fear that kept him from trying to take a weapon from Slade again. Slade sparing him inspired an instinctive loyalty in him, a deep-rooted desire to repay the one who he owed his life to. He already finds himself automatically obeying the Alpha and wanting to be close to him.

When an Alpha challenged another Alpha it was to establish their place in the Pack; the one who submitted who was the weaker, with that came an expectation of obedience in the future. Omegas couldn’t challenge Alphas, for the obvious reason. What they could do and what he had done on blind panic without meaning to, was question whether an Alpha had the authority over _them._ He’d lost that challenge, it was clear he was always going to, but then he’d _submitted._ That meant he hadn’t just acknowledged Slade was stronger than him, it meant he’d acknowledged Slade was his superior _within his Pack_.

It was tying his thoughts in knots.

Slade held the right of command within his Pack, but he wasn’t part of Jason’s Pack, the Pack he was a part of wasn’t the Pack Jason was a part of. His instincts kept on trying to merge the Packs into one, and his thinking mind kept recoiling in disgust. He’d found himself thinking of Slade and him as part of a Pack of two and _that_ was a whole other kind of danger. If he started thinking of himself as Slade’s Omega he’d never make it out of this alive.

Jason can’t tell how much of it is Slade’s plan, and how much is an Omega’s instinctive response to a life-threatening situation. If it’s part of a plan he hates that it’s working…

Trying to reconcile things means he wakes up confused and tired when Slade shifts from under him. The Alpha’s arms let him go and he nuzzles closer on instinct, missing the warmth and the strong Alpha scent that meant he wasn’t in the snow in the woods. Slade roughly shakes his shoulder.

“Up.” The Alpha orders.

Jason tries and fails to bite back a yawn, he’s still exhausted. He’d slept tensed up and now his whole body aches. He tries to stretch the tensed muscles out as he stands and hears his joints crack.

It was far from a restful sleep and he seems hyperaware of the way the Alpha seems to be looking right through him. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and he finds himself holding his shoulders defensively hunched. He feels more like a beaten dog than he has in years.

He half-heartedly flashes his teeth as Slade leaves the room to let him get dressed, not sure who or what he’s threatening. He already misses the warmth of the Alpha’s arms wrapped around him. The room feels so much colder for being empty, even if it does still smell like Slade. His fingers feel stiff and tiredness weighs on him as he grabs his clothes. For a moment he looks at the unmade bed and the desire to curl back up under the covers until the warmth of Slade’s body has faded from the sheets hits him. He tells himself it’s just the tiredness talking as he forces himself to strip down. The exhaustion, more emotional than physical, is fraying his nerves. It’s making him snap at nothing and chase shadows.

Despite _knowing_ he’s alone Jason feels like he’s being watched as he gets dressed. His fingers twitch with a desperate desire to _somehow_ defend himself against the oppressive atmosphere. He catches himself baring his teeth at nothing, expecting an attack that’s not coming. Every tiny sound seems like the prelude to a beating and he’s hyperaware of every creak and groan of the wooden building.

He’s relieved when Slade returns, he finds himself moving to within arm’s reach of the Alpha’s side without thinking. Slade looks down on him with his face unreadably blank and a sudden urge to nuzzle up to him to apologize runs over Jason. He freezes, keeping his body in check through sheer force of will. He was not a _pup_ he could control himself _._ He forces himself to meet Slade’s gaze, wanting to flash his teeth, but instead raising his chin enough to show Slade a glimpse of neck. It’s a reminder that he’d submitted and they both knew what that meant. Slade looks away and Jason silently falls into step with him.

The silence between them grows, it stretches out into a deep, dark, hungry void waiting for words to fill it like a pit trap waits for an unwary foot. Jason bites his tongue rather than be the one to trip the trap. The rest of the Pack wouldn’t agree, but he knew when to hold his tongue.

He focuses so hard on it he doesn’t notice where he’s being led until he’s half-led and half-shoved through the kitchen door. The Alpha exchanges a nod with the camp cook before fixing Jason with a look that makes his heart tremble. He quickly drops his eyes to the floor, lowering his head and hunching his shoulders against the blow he knows is coming.

“Stay.” Slade orders, like Jason’s a pup and while he doesn’t use the Alpha Voice there’s a darkness to his tone that’s a reminder he _could_.

Jason whimpers like a beaten puppy.

He hears the sound before he realizes he’s made it; he’s alone and on edge and he wants, _needs,_ this Alpha’s protection. The tiny _pathetic_ sound leaves him before he can stifle it and he immediately flushed red with horrified embarrassment. He freezes up in dread and Slade is gone before he can force himself to unfreeze. He doesn’t know if the Alpha even heard it, but everyone else surely did.

Jason’s sure he hears a chuckle behind him.

He whips around, his hackles already raised and snarls. There’s a shift in his watching audience of other Omegas. They go back to what they were doing with a deliberate slowness that says _they’re_ not going to start a fight, but if he tries it they’ll finish it. Only one meets his eyes, the Omega he’d met the day before who is reclining on a rough throne of sacks, obviously not doing any work. He smiles back a smile of smug, satisfied malevolence. Jason bares his teeth at him.

“So it’s true, you really are his bitch.” Eddie says in a cheery sing-song voice that makes Jason want to charge across the kitchen to shove his head into his stupid flour-sack throne. “Look at you, whining like a puppy without him there to hold your hand. I heard you challenged Slade.” Eddie snorts, the Omega’s eyes gleaming with a malevolent delight. “Did he beat you, make you cry? I bet he took right there in the snow like the animal you are.”

“Looking for another beating already?” Jason growls at him.

“So _savage_.” Eddie clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “I don’t know why he keeps such a brainless brute around, not for the sparkling conversation I’m sure, but I always suspected he swung that way.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“Slade’s…gay?” Jason bluntly asks, making his surprise clear.

There’s a loud snort of disbelief from the camp’s Alpha cook that puts paid to that idea.

“He certainly has no appreciation for a _real_ Omega’s delicate charms.” Eddie sniffs, not looking too torn up about it. “You’re living proof of that.”

“Your ‘charms’ are more of an acquired taste Eddie.” Wintergreen snorts.

“Or a slow-acting poison.” Another Omega adds, watching him with dark eyes as sharp as the knife he’s holding.

He gives the impression he’s giving Jason a professional appraisal, like someone checking over a horse being held by a shifty handler. Jason doesn’t bother baring teeth at him. For one he holds the knife like someone who can use it in a fight, for another he’s got no chance of intimidating the man. Those dark eyes have the distant cast of someone who’s seen true horror and taken notes.

“Of course, why _don’t_ you weigh in Dr. Crane, we’d all love to hear your _professional_ opinion.” Eddie scoffs sarcastically.

The so-named Dr. Crane fixes Jason with eyes like a gallows crow. He’s tall but skinny. Jason’s sure he could take him in a fist fight no trouble. He’s also sure if he antagonizes him like Eddie, the doc’s going to drug him and steal his teeth while he sleeps or something. There’s something dark in his eyes, a sadistic sparkle like a curious demon. He’s not just being watched, he’s being _observed._

“You’re afraid, boy.” He says simply.

“Ding, ding, no prize for the _obvious_ answer.” Eddie says sarcastically. “Everything always comes back to fear with you! You’re just parroting the same thing over and over, like Freud!”

“Freud was a baby crying for mommy after dipping his toes in the deep end compared to me.” The doctor says with utmost conviction, sounding more like a preacher than a medicine man. “I’m going to redefine the field…once I finish my book.”

“Ah yes, this famous book of yours that you’re never going to finish because you always need more research.” Eddie says mockingly.

“I’m gonna research _you_ one of these days.” The doctor mutters under his breath and points his knife at Jason. His eyes gleam darkly from behind his round glasses. “Maybe you can help me with that, let me pick your brains as they say.” He smiles like a corpse. “Tell me boy, what is it you’re so afraid of?”

Jason gives him a warning look with his shoulders defensively hunched in case the skinny doctor tries anything with that knife.

“I’m trapped for three months with a pack of killers with my survival dependent on a morally ambivalent outlaw. I’ve got good reason to be afraid.” He says.

“That you do.” The doctor nods. “But that’s just the surface level fear, what is it you’re _really_ afraid of?”

“Oh _please_ Crane, spare us all the psychobabble.” Eddie scoffs, sounding put-off Crane isn’t joining in the teasing. “You’re not here to psychoanalyze the brat!”

“Forgive me for making the most of our current isolation.” Dr. Crane replies drily. “Hiding out gets so very dull if I can’t find my own entertainment.” He smiles at Jason, or at least shows enough of his teeth to classify as one. There’s something unnatural about it, he doesn’t care about being convincing. “I want to get all I can out of you before Slade slits your throat.”

Jason tries to stare him down, but events have him on edge and the doctor seems to know it. He can’t bring the steel he needs to his glare, while the doctor appears merely curious about how long it would take for him to crack.

A hand claps him on the shoulder and Jason jumps at the unexpected contact. The Omega doctor smirks as if putting a check mark in the mental document he’s been taking. Eddie chuckles to himself but bites his tongue when Wintergreen growls, a reminder that even if he’s getting long in the tooth he’s still an _Alpha_ _._

“You ain’t here to gossip.” Wintergreen growls.

“Looks like Daddy Wilson’s upset someone’s badmouthing his baby boy.” Dr. Crane says, but still jolts guiltily and looks away when Wintergreen growls at _him_.

“Come on boy.” The Alpha’s grip tightens on Jason’s shoulder and he pulls Jason away from the pair and into the root cellar.

Jason lets him, more because he’s still trying to find his footing than because he couldn’t fight it. He knows Eddie hates him, but he seems to have attracted more hostile attention. For a flicker he finds himself missing his Alpha and squashes that thought as hard as he can. He doesn’t _have_ an Alpha and he doesn’t need one.

The doctor didn’t give the impression of _hating_ him, but he doubts Doc Crane needed to hate someone to harm them. He’d do it for nothing if he thought it would help his so-called research. Jason’s not sure how to handle that; he _could_ beat-down the skinny Omega easily, but Omegas like Crane didn’t fight head-on, it wasn’t their style. They were far subtler about waiting for the right moment to slip the knife into your ribs. He’s exhausted and on edge and just wants somewhere where he can put his back to the wall and _breathe._

Wintergreen seems to see that because there’s some sympathy in the Alpha’s eyes as he hands Jason a bunch of parsnips, a bucket and a paring knife. Jason takes them numbly, frowning as he realizes his hand is shaking. He forces it to still. He wasn’t afraid, at least no more than the situation warranted. He was on edge in a target-rich environment; he wants to stab everything hostile until it stops breathing, to make himself _safe_. He forces himself not to hold the paring knife like a weapon. The blade wasn’t any longer than his middle finger, it would be useless for stabbing someone. Maybe if they left their neck unguarded he could slash a throat...

“Being in the kitchens ain’t all bad.” Wintergreen tells him, keeping enough of a distance between that Jason can’t stab him on reflex. “There’s knives here. Come on sit down, Slade’s in one of his moods again isn’t he?”

The words ‘how did you know?’ line themselves up on Jason’s tongue and Wintergreen chuckles.

“Can see it on your face clear as daylight, boy.” He says.

Jason growls under his breath and his grip tightens on the handle of his paring knife. The blade is too short to properly stab, but he was a dab hand at throwing knives and could probably take out an eye. Instead he digs it into the parsnip with more force than necessary and nearly cuts it in half. He tries to dampen the satisfaction he feels yanking the blade free of the cut he’s made. Just having something to _cut_ means he doesn’t have to worry about what to do with his hands. It helps him bleed out the nervous energy with something he can trick himself into thinking protects him.

Hell, if he got to chop beets it might be good for stress relief, they bled red enough. He hacks away at the vegetable’s skin, gouging long slivers of it out with his knife as he pictures it as the skin of his enemies. It settles him down at least a bit. Just doing _something_ active helps with the pre-fight jitters.

“How do I get him out of this ‘mood’?” Jason asks carefully.

He drops the parsnip he’d been hacking at into the bucket of peeled vegetables. Wintergreen looks from him to the bucket and raises a familiar disapproving eyebrow. A prickle of shame runs over Jason and he mutters a vague apology as he scoops it back up and tidies it up properly with the paring knife.

“If you were a hire I’d say a blowjob usually lightens him up. Nothing like having your knot sucked to make an Alpha feel better.” Wintergreen says and Jason chokes.

His knife slips and cuts a slice out of his thumb. Jason immediately sucks on it to stem the bleeding. He turns his gaze on Wintergreen, eyes shining with indignant wounded betrayal.

The old Alpha snorts.

“Please, there ain’t no such thing as privacy in a military brothel and a soldier gotta relieve their stress somehow.”

Wintergreen gives him a malevolent grin that shows he doesn’t give a squeeze of a damp biscuit about Jason’s discomfort.

“Look.” Wintergreen sighs. “Slade don’t mind you having a gun much, but you hurt his feelings.”

“Hurt his _feelings?”_ Jason snorts in disbelief.

“Boy, by trying to take the gun offa him you as good as said you don’t trust him to protect ya.” Wintergreen says patiently, as if he’s talking to a pup. “Slade’s an old-fashioned Alpha, he don’t got much in the way of manners but you offended him, you hurt his pride as an Alpha and he don’t like that much. Like it or not your life depends on him feeling chivalrous enough to want to protect you.”

“And you just want to be a good guy and help me out.” Jason snarks back, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

“I want to avoid seeing a kid like you getting gunned down like a stray dog in the street, boy.” Wintergreen growls. “But if you’re determined to die I’ll make my peace with it.”

Jason growls under his breath.

“So what do I do to fix things _without_ dropping to my knees and asking to suck his dick?” He asks with hostility dripping from his words.

“Cuddle up to him. _Flatter_ him. Let him know you appreciate him being the big strong Alpha looking after you.” Wintergreen advises, not the slightest bit put off. “You already bared your throat for him after all.”

Jason growls.

“Please. You did it, we all know you did it, no taking it back now.” Wintergreen scoffs. “If you didn’t submit he woulda torn your throat out and we both know it. Ain’t no shame in not wanting to die, boy.”

Jason bares his teeth, not particularly at Wintergreen as much as at the whole situation. If his life had a throat, he would bite it.

“Fine, cuddle up to the killer, already got a head start on that.” Jason snarls. “I’m sure we’ll be best of friends when he slits my throat.”

Wintergreen sighs.

“That not going to happen unless you do something really stupid, the Doc just gets his kicks from spooking people and most of us here are already wise to him.” He says. “Slade’s a highly moral person…”

Jason interrupts him with a snort of disbelief.

“People always do that, but he _is._ ” Wintergreen says with long-suffering patience. “He’s got a moral code and he sticks to it, it’s just his code is fucking incomprehensible.”

The old Alpha shakes his head.

“Look, I’ve known him since he was fourteen and if there’s one thing he respects it’s strength.” Wintergreen tells him as he leans back against the shelving. “Going for the gun then baring your throat like that…Well he might not have a clear read but he’s not gonna give up on you for a little scrap like that.”

“So what?” Jason gives a half-hearted snarl.

“Let him look after you and provide for you, let him you know you’re relying on him.” Wintergreen advises. “He asked for you. If he kills you now, it makes him look like he can’t handle you, makes him look weak and he hates that. Doesn’t mean you’re outta the woods just yet. For your own good you best stay something he can handle.”

“I’ve hardly been accused of being easy to handle.” Jason snorts. “Might as well give it a try.”

“There’s worse Alphas here to belong to.” Wintergreen warns him darkly. “Trust me, now you’re his he’ll defend you with his life.”

“I’m not his, we’re not fucking.” Jason feels he has to tell him. “No matter what Eddie thinks.”

“Doesn’t matter to him. He’s bull-headed like that.” Wintergreen chuckles and claps him on the shoulder. “Keep your head above water, boy.” He says with a chuckle. “Survivin’s done day by day.”

“So what, I’m just supposed to stay in the kitchen until he gets back?” Jason asks.

“Pretty much.” Wintergreen nods.

Screw that. Jason jerks his head towards the kitchen door in a dismissive gesture. While Eddie and the doc were the only two that actually threatened him there’d been nearly twenty Omegas in that room.

“No-one’s going to possibly eat so many fucking parsnips.” He snorts. “Not that they’re doing any real work.”

“This is an outlaw pack.” Wintergreen says patiently. “Omegas are here to plot heists. There ain’t much point in doing that if you’re gonna squeal to the Bat soon as you get the chance.”

“Huh. Color me intrigued.” Lex had a reputation for a fierce pride, Jason wouldn’t have thought he’d let anyone else plan his jobs for him.

Still, they had to make a little cash before a heist the same way a farmer has to plant seed before he can harvest a crop. A proper heist needed horses and guns, both of which were better to buy than steal. No pack of outlaws no matter how big or smart could be robbing everybody at once. Might as well take the best scores for yourself and pass on the other targets to smaller gangs. Them knowing it was you providing them with the info was as good for your reputation as robbing the place yourself…

Only an idiot thought an Omegas couldn’t be criminals of course. Still they trotted out the ‘Bad Alphas made me do bad things’ defense for the trial. Only Alphas could sit on a jury so it made sense in theory. In practice the best it could buy is a reprise and that was only for the heavily pregnant; without a mate they’d have no legal way of supporting themselves and enough eyes on them anything illegal was an instant death sentence, and what Alpha would want an Omega carrying a criminal’s pup? Better to die with a little pride and ever since Crazy J’s first courtroom massacre juries weren’t falling for the sob stories any more.

While their mates would go to the noose, it was considered good manners for Omegas to be given the option of hemlock over hanging no matter what they’d done. It was considered more socially acceptable to let them have a quiet suicide and an unmarked grave no matter what they’d done.

Jason thought the lime pit was good enough for Alphas and Omegas both.

Omega outlaws tended to get arrested alongside their mates, the instinct to defend their den made it hard for them to run instead of fight. Most of them decided to die with their family, often all it took was hearing their mate had been captured for the Omegas to break them out or die trying. Everyone in an outlaw den got arrested, so who was who was sorted out afterwards. Of course even Omega outlaws got _reputations_ …

“Anyone I’d know?” He asks. No sheriff would put a bounty out on an Omega, Bruce made it clear to him it had encouraged the wrong kind of bounty hunter. He’d often wondered what face went with what alias, as he’d only see them in person during the arrest.

“You didn’t do you research before charging in?” Wintergreen snorts.

“Bounty hunters get names but no pictures, not for Omegas.” Jason snorts back.

It’s not like they’d be wearing their masks in the hideout and masks were all that was on the bounty posters. Jason’s sure they were expecting Slade to be keeping him on a shorter leash.

He would have preferred hunting again, he’d rather worry about one Alpha than a group of defensive Omegas. If he had to stay here much longer he was probably going to stab someone and was definitely going to hit someone again.

The strongest Alpha was Pack Leader, but the strongest Omega was the result of a thousand little calculations on what served the pack, your pups, your mate and your self-interests the best. He’s going to make it clear it’s not worth the trouble to bother him. He shudders to think what an Omega would have to do to actually have _rank_ in a pack like this…

Wintergreen gives him a pitying look.

“He really sent you into this blind, didn’t he?” He says softly.

Jason half-heartedly flashes some fang.

“Don’t need to know who someone is to shoot them.” He says flatly.

“For a lone Omega…” Wintergreen starts to say and Jason outright snarls at him. The Alpha pauses but keeps talking. “…it seems like the Bat’s setting you up to fail.”

Jason growls and starts holding the paring knife like a weapon.

“Don’t get defensive, I ain’t insulting your skills boy.” Wintergreen snorts. “Fact of nature is you didn’t have a snowball’s chance of winning against all of us even if you were an Alpha.”

“I know that!” Jason snarls, his lips fully drawn back to show off all his teeth. “I knew that going into this!”

“And you still did it.” Wintergreen doesn’t look intimidated. “You really that devoted to him?”

“Fuck no!” Jason growls and he sees a shift in the Alpha, he’s standing down. “Pass is frozen, can’t go back, not now…I’ve failed…” Jason’s voice grows quieter until it trails off into nothing.

“He’s really got you twisted in the head.” Wintergreen says sympathetically. “Stand down boy, I’ll let you know what you’re up against.”

Jason bares his teeth with a short growl, letting the Alpha know he was still dangerous, before settling down and lowering the tiny knife. He didn’t have a chance of taking on the outlaws when he had his guns, he had even less of a chance taking on a pack with a fucking _paring knife._

He wanted to fight, every instinct in his body was to fight and kill and destroy until there was nothing left to threaten him, but he couldn’t let instinct overwhelm him. He was a hunter in the Bat’s Pack, he wasn’t a mindless animal. He could think, he could _plan,_ and he was going to make it through this _._

“Alright.” He grunts gruffly, keeping his back against the wall. “How afraid should I be?”

“Keep your head down, your back to the wall and your hand on a knife and they’ll leave you alone.” Wintergreen advises. “Mostly. This here’s hardly one big happy family.”

“A pack of convenience.” Jason says.

Wintergreen nods.

“They aren’t happy about it either, so you don’t start nothing, there won’t be nothing, but if someone else starts something you’re allowed to finish it. Non-lethally, though you shouldn’t have any trouble with _that_.”

Wintergreen gives him a look.

“You already got an enemy in Eddie but while he’s a vicious bastard he’s also easily bored. He’s just needling you for entertainment’s sake ‘cause there’s bugger all else to do. He thinks Slade’s been rougher with you than he was, and that’s enough payback for hitting him. Eddie well, he delights in antagonizing people, that and his supposedly ‘unsolvable’ riddles.”

“He’s Riddler?” Jason asks in surprise. “God yeah, I can just picture it.”

There were more dangerous outlaws, even just among the Omegas, but none that got the same look of absolute fed-up _despair_ on Bruce’s face like finding a question mark at a crime scene. Sure, other Omega outlaws shot for much worse than frustration and most of the time shot themselves in the foot, but Riddler was _consistent_. The look on Bruce’s face, knowing every question mark was going to be _another_ night spent hunched over the almanacs and maps trying to piece together the puzzle…Well, Jason had never seen anything else come closer to breaking Bruce through sheer annoyance.

Matching the method to the man Jason realizes the green silk ‘handkerchief’ he’d used to stop the bleeding had been the Omega’s mask. If he’d been able to see the question mark he would have joined the dots sooner.

“That makes Crane…”

“Scarecrow, thought I always did hate that name.” The doctor says almost wistfully, appearing in the doorway as if summoned by his name being spoken.

Jason turns towards the door, already holding the knife at the ready. Funny how something as small as a paring knife made him feel more at ease.

No wonder Crane gave Jason the creeps. Medicine was usually considered a career for the more caring presentation, you weren’t supposed to leverage that reputation for more patients to turn into test subjects. It’d been weeks before they’d arrived and found the one thing linking the cases was an Omega doctor.

The skinny Omega’s eyes slide off him to the Alpha in the room.

“Your presence is required back in the kitchen.” He says simply, before turning unreadable eyes on Jason and giving him a slight nod of acknowledgement.

The man was a monster. About as difficult to beat in a fight as a real scarecrow but a monster nonetheless because monsters didn’t hunt the strong they hunted the weak, the vulnerable and afraid. He hadn’t seen the ‘crow in person before but that distant cast in his eyes was more terrifying than he’d imagined. They were the eyes of someone who’d do worse than kill without remorse because other people weren’t _people_ to him. They were test subjects and this was his experiment.

The hairs at the back of his neck stand on end as the doctor’s gaze falls on him. He bares his teeth and brandishes the knife, aware the reaction he gets from the doctor is merely mild interest. Jason _could_ cut the other Omega, but he wouldn’t think anything more of it than any scientist getting bitten by a lab rat. Pain, physical pain at least, was something the doctor barely noticed.

Wintergreen puts a hand on his shoulder again, but this time Jason expecting it and he’s armed so he isn’t startled.

“Keep close, keep your head down and don’t give them a reason to start anything.” He mutters under his breath. “It’s going to be alright. Buck up.”

Jason grins, or at least shows teeth.

“That’s a few letters off what I’m normally called.”

He marks Crane’s scent of cut hay, pumpkin and toxic chemicals as he steps by him. He had a good memory for scents and this was one he was keen to avoid.

Alphas didn’t appreciate the subtleties of Omega’s scents, Jason is sure if he asked Bruce to describe his scent the answer would simply be ‘sweet’. True, Omega’s scents tended to be less musk and more nectar compared to Alpha scents, but there were subtleties there as well. Jason found that while Alphas couldn’t describe what they liked, they knew what they didn’t like and avoided it naturally enough.

Wintergreen gives him a few little things to do to look busy while he puts a wall to his back and starts planning.

The room with the massive black-iron cooking pot is pleasantly warm compared to the world outside. The pot bubbles as it slowcooks venison stew for the pack. Jason stays close to it and close to the only Alpha here rather than brave the rest of the kitchens.

He slips into detective mode, monitoring every half-heard word in obvious code while keeping his eyes down and pretending like he hears nothing. The perfume of mixed Omega scents here clashes with the savory smell of cooking meat, but an Omega’s scent memory had to be sharper than an Alpha’s. He’ll be able to identify every Omega here by scent alone before winter ends.

Eddie had a scent like pear hard candy, that artificial sweetness having a sharp chemical bite to it almost like cheap alcohol. It was a poisonous kind of scent, but not the worst Jason had encountered. That honor would always go to Crazy Jay. Nothing could ever be worse than him. The danger and the smell of other Omegas brought up the memory like bad seafood.

Jay’s scent was _terrible,_ a strongly sweet unmistakable _Omega_ scent but it was the sickly sweet of something artificial that had been rendered down then burnt then fermented to a syrupy sludge too concentrated to rot any further. Just like the outlaw himself; too rotten to rot and sickening to the senses.

Jason had learnt to fear that scent; Jay had come after him with a crowbar for daring to ‘put the moves on someone else’s Alpha’ as he’d put it. That no-one but Jay himself considered him to be the Bat’s mate didn’t matter to him. Jason had seen it in the outlaw Omega’s acid-green eyes. He didn’t care at all that the Bat wasn’t interested in Jason, he cared that the Bat’s pack were interfering in their little _game_ and leaving less attention, less _love,_ for him, like Bruce had a limited amount of love to give and his pack was eating it up _._ If Bruce hadn’t shown up when he did the maniac would have killed him. The blood loss nearly killed him anyway, if Bruce hadn’t picked up doctoring from his father, it would have.

Jason still couldn’t forgive Bruce for leaving him to the outlaw’s lack-of-mercy for so long, even though he knew Bruce had come as soon as he could. It was only because Jay had wanted to draw it out that he hadn’t ended up neutered; the outlaw had been planning on ripping out Jason’s womb without anaesthetic as a ‘finale’ to the torture. As it was the outlaw had delighted in adding to his collection of wounds, torturing him by cutting him until his whole body was striped with ugly gashes, ‘to ruin him’, Jay had put it, ‘so that no-one would ever want him again’.

Every time he’d taken his shirt off to change he saw those scars and his chest would tighten. Not looking didn’t help, he still felt them crawl against his skin, every mark the outlaw had made on him. He felt like he was wearing his clothes as a mask to hide his disfigurement. He even shied away when an Alpha as much as touched his shoulder, convinced that the marks would somehow start to show through his clothes and then everyone would see what a hideous, disfigured  _freak_ he was.

Bruce had said not soon afterwards he didn’t understand why Jason was so mopey about it, scars were just part of the job. Jason had snapped and run away, he couldn’t stand to be anywhere that had Bruce’s _scent_ after that, but even outside of the Manor every part of the growing town of Gotham reminded him of Bruce, from the buildings being put up under his name to the slums where they patrolled. Jason realized there was nothing in Gotham free of him, there was no place the Omega could go to be alone. Everything he had was tied up in the Manor, where his scent mingled with the rest of the Pack. He had no place, no _thing_ that was just _his._

He’d ended up at the place he used to call home to find that it was now, irreversibly, just the place Bruce had rescued him _from._ Even there, down in the slums in the mud and the dirt, it was still _Bruce’s._ Everything in Gotham was his.

Dick had found him before he could do anything stupid, like steal a fast horse and head West until Gotham was a distant memory. He’d apologized for Bruce and flashed the puppy eyes, but Jason could tell he didn’t understand either, he just wanted his Pack back together. He’d still gone back with him, still sat through the awkward confused apology of an Alpha that didn’t know what they did wrong, and still told Bruce he forgave him.

Sometimes, more often than he should, he wondered what would have happened if he’d punched pretty boy right in his smiling face and ran. Maybe he would have found a place to settle down, something to call his own, or maybe he would have ended up being held prisoner by outlaws a whole lot sooner.

He snorts.

Like Bruce would be able to let him go. His ‘father’ would hunt him to the ends of the Earth, whether he wanted him to or not. The Alpha had both a vast fortune and the training of a bounty hunter, if Jason stripped naked, burned everything he had ever touched, and ran away to live in a cave in the woods Bruce would find a way to send him a hand-knitted sweater within a week.

Sometimes he thinks that’s the only reason he hadn’t run away…before now.

It’s an unpleasant thought to have, but wasn’t this technically him running away? He’d disobeyed direct orders to pursue the outlaws through the pass. Sure he hadn’t _gotten_ anywhere, but he’d _wanted_ to. Still wanted to, if he’s honest. Yeah Gotham was still _home,_ but he’s going to have to fight tooth and claw to be let outside the Manor after this. That someone who’d recently been held _prisoner_ maybe wouldn’t respond well to being held prisoner _again_ , just by someone who cared about them, wouldn’t pass Bruce’s mind.

Bruce was the dumbest smart person Jason had ever met, which wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t so convinced he always knew best. What Bruce knew about acting like a normal person instead of a crime-operated punching machine would fit on the front of an envelope. What he knew about Omegas could fit on a postage stamp.

Jason can feel the Alpha’s presence lingering over his shoulder, watching him, _judging_ him for not being as good a hunter as his Alpha children. He knows what Bruce would say if he was here. He’d point out all the things he had done wrong and was still doing wrong in that infuriatingly patient tone he always used to point out Jason’s mistakes. Then he would say something, something small about how an _Alpha_ would never make those mistakes, and when Jason finally got fed up and snapped back, well that was Omegas for you always so _emotional._ He finds himself baring his teeth at the imagined ghost of his father and forces his expression back to normal.

Calm, he needed to be calm and emotionless as a tin soldier if he was going to please his father. Animals snarled, animals growled and bit and he wasn’t an animal. He’d never be a real hunter if he didn’t learn how to control himself. Part of him, a dark hidden part he’d shoved down as hard as he could, tells him he’s never going to be a real hunter _anyway,_ not to Bruce, not to his birth father. They wanted an _Alpha_ son. He forces it back into the dark, trying not to think about it. Bruce is going to put him through hell when he gets back anyway, it’s going to be worse if he keeps doubting himself.  

He promises himself he was going to take down as many of these outlaws as he could when he escapes. It won’t be enough to avoid punishment but maybe Bruce will go easy on him? Jason doubts it will. He could deliver every outlaw here to Bruce and he would still treat Jason like a failure. No matter what he did he was going to spend his Spring as trapped as his Winter. Three months was the _minimum_ it would take before Bruce would let him hunt again.

No, he wasn’t doing this to impress an Alpha, he hadn’t for a long time, that ship had sailed. He was doing this because every outlaw here was a threat in his _territory_ and he wasn’t going to let them hurt anyone else. The Omega in him said that even if it cost his life, threats needed to be _destroyed._ Bruce didn’t agree with him, he saw it as a dominance challenge to be overcome, but that was his fucking obsession with being the strongest Alpha clouding his thoughts. As long as he won their dominance challenge he’d let them go, while Jason knew the only thing to stop them from doing it again was to put a bullet in their head. Maybe he was just too much of an _Omega_ to think otherwise.

The anger helps, it shouldn’t, but it does. It makes this into a _hunt._ He puts himself in hunting mode rather than survival mode. He wasn’t an Omega trapped with no place to hide, he was a hunter and he was observing his prey. Like a flock of birds once startled the outlaws would all be put to flight at the same time. His assets were two Alphas that weren’t currently trying to kill him and a three-inch paring knife. How was he going to do this?

Jason spends the day observing and planning while Wintergreen slowly feeds him information on his prey. The old Alpha’s manipulating him, rewarding him with tidbits of information for tasks done in the kitchen like he’s teaching a dog a trick. He endures it, this is _punishment_ after all.

He was just biding his time, killing time until it was killing time.

No-one bothers him again, mostly because he holds the knife in a way that makes it clear he has a knife. They’re watching him closely though, waiting to see if he’s worth the trouble to eliminate. That was the Omega instinct, protect your mate and children then yourself. None of them cared much for the wider pack at all. That was why it had seemed so vital to get to them now, before the spring. As soon as they could the outlaws are going to split off into their own smaller packs and go their separate directions until they had to come together for the next heist. It would be the work of months, if not years, to round them all up again. He’d been too hasty, overeager in his pursuit as he worried the opportunity would pass. He couldn’t arrest anyone if he was dead.

He becomes so caught up in his planning, in tracking the tiny shifting alliances of Omegas just as uncomfortable with being trapped here, he almost misses Slade’s return. He catches the smell of snow and pines and blood first and puts it to the back of his mind. If he was a dog his ears would have pricked up when he does catch the Alpha’s scent. He very pointedly does _not_ scramble to where he can see the hunter. He’s still under observation by the other Omegas. He moves in a very calm and orderly way to where the hunter’s bringing in the fruits of his labor.

Slade drops a brace of snowshoe rabbits onto a kitchen bench. There are eighteen of them, strung together by a wire around their necks. They’d been caught by some snare trap, their bodies are already stiff and their pale fur is frosted with snow. Jason’s heart leaps into his throat, he can _feel_ it hammering in his mouth. As the Alpha looks at him he finds his shoulders going up and his head dipping apologetically. He lets the knife drop from his hand onto the bench.

“Upstairs.” Slade orders and Jason jumps, looking up at him and trying to read something in his expression, but Slade’s already turned away. He watches the Alpha’s back as he goes.

Jason feels the eyes of the other Omegas prickle on the back of his neck and his heart sinks so low he’s afraid it might drop out of him. He forces down a whimper. He’s not a puppy, he’s not disappointed not to have Slade’s attention, damn it.  This was a tactical decision, _tactical,_ he needed an ally not a babysitter.

He was going to go upstairs and…do…something.

Jason forces his teeth to unclench and clicks his neck. He’s tense again, but tense in the way of facing a one-on-one face he’s not sure he can win, rather than facing down a hostile force. It’s almost a relief.

He reaches for the knife. Wintergreen grabs his hand. Jason growls at him and bares his teeth.

“Hurt him and I will hunt you down and gut you like the rabbit you are.” Wintergreen growls back.

His face deadly serious but, unseen by the rest of the room, Wintergreen picks up the knife and presses it into Jason’s hand. The handle is longer than the blade but its sharp and better yet small enough for him to hide. Not enough to even the odds, but a hell of a lot better than nothing.

“I’ve got a reputation to keep up. If anyone finds out I let you steal a knife there’ll be trouble for both of us.” The old Alpha warns, keeping his voice low enough to not be overheard. “Third floorboard by the door’s loose enough to hide something.”

Jason takes it and hides the blade up his sleeve with a subtle twist of his wrist. He feels the cold steel of the tiny blade against his skin and some of the tension bleeds out of him. He breathes out.

“You know for an outlaw you’re actually a decent guy.” He smiles a small, wry smile that shows a fang.

“I look after my own.” Wintergreen snorts. “He sulks when he’s bored. If you weren’t keeping him on his toes he’d probably be wrestlin’ a bear right now.”

Jason snorts too, more amused than anything.

“Glad to know I rank above bear in terms of entertainment.” He says, slipping the knife down to his shoe in case the Alpha changes his mind.

As far as weapons go he had a better chance of hurting someone with the broken hat-rack, but what the paring knife had that his improvised weapon hadn’t was that it was _portable_.

He actually feels confident as he leaves the kitchen, even though his heart’s still in his throat as he goes up the stairs. He finds his shoulders hunching again, not sure if it’s to look apologetic or to shelter his head if he gets hit. They’d been the same for so long it was hard to disentangle the feelings. The weight of the knife against his boot is a comforting last resort, but if he _needs_ it he’s not sure he’ll have time to draw it.

The confidence fades by the time he puts a hand against the wooden door to the Alpha’s room. His heart seems to be hammering harder at his rib cage, he can taste it pulse in the back of his throat and that comes with a throbbing nausea. Pre-fight adrenaline.

He takes a deep breath before he pushes at the door to the Alpha’s room. It’s not locked, but it seems to creak open unnaturally slowly, too slow to let him scope out the situation. He is already bracing himself for a fight he knows he is going to lose.

Slade is waiting for him, in the middle of the room, facing the door. When he sees the Omega there’s a moment when he looks like he’s going to say something, then stops himself until Jason’s fully in the room.

Jason closes the door behind him. There’s something uncomfortably _final_ about it, like he’s entered a fighting pit. He tries not to bare his teeth aggressively, but he ends up showing tooth anyway in a weird half grimace. He’s holding himself defensively, ready to take the first hit on his shoulders to protect his head and chest.

“Come here.” The Alpha orders and Jason breathes in sharply.

He hesitantly shuffles in closer until he’s at arm’s length and not an inch more. Slade looks him over with a frown.

“I’m not going to bite boy.” The Alpha growls and Jason startles.

The Alpha breathes out a sigh and closes the small distance between them, putting one hand on Jason’s shoulder.

“You look tense.” He says. Jason snorts at the understatement, then realizes the Alpha’s expression has gone hard. “Are you hurt?”

Jason shakes his head.

“Did you hurt any of _them,_ was there a fight?” Slade immediately asks with urgency, his grip tightening on Jason’s shoulder.

Jason quickly shakes his head more vigorously.

“Good.” The Alpha breathes out, his arm has begun to curl protectively across Jason’s back.

“You were…worried about me.” Jason hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but his voice sounds tiny and confused now it’s in the open air. He hates that and immediately bristles defensively.

“I know you can handle yourself.” Slade snorts. “Still, there’s always the risk of…unforeseen circumstances.” He drums his fingers on Jason’s shoulder. “Yeah, I was worried.”

The Alpha moves in to nuzzle him, and Jason moves back without thinking. The Alpha snorts but pulls back without trying again. He doesn’t look particularly torn up about it, but Jason suddenly remembers Wintergreen’s advice. He was supposed to be flattering the Alpha, getting close to him and playing on his protective instincts.

He clears his throat.

“I missed you.” He says, it sounds stiff and stilted even to him. It’s true, but not in the way most people meant it, and he never said it that often in the first place. He was out of practice.

Slade snorts, he’s not buying it.

“Whatever. I _am_ glad you’re back.” Jason huffs, he does mean it, but his hackles are up too much to try and make it sound soft. “Omegas here are assholes.”

“Professional criminals tend to be.” Slade replies coolly.

Jason realizes he’s relaxing at the same time he realizes Slade’s arm is still around him. It’s fully curled around him now, reaching shoulder to shoulder in a defensive bulwark to protects him from attacks from behind. His back has stopped shaking with nervous pre-fight seething bloodlust. Slade’s thumb strokes soothing circles on his shoulder. Jason hates that it is actually calming him down. The combination of the gesture, the familiar room and the scent and presence of the Alpha he shared a bed with made him feel safe here. Part of him immediately wants to pull away, but he stamps on it. Can’t offend Slade.

His throat feels dry, after the day he’s had he doesn’t think he has the strength to act coy. Either Slade would see through it, or it would work too well and neither of those were appealing options. Slade seems to notice him watching and lets go, moving back across the room to do something else. Jason frowns at his back.

A small childish part of him feels offended, like Slade’s taken away a job he doesn’t think Jason can handle. It insists he was just psyching himself up, he could totally do it if given a chance. Jason stomps on that part too and looks away from the Alpha. His eyes wander across the room, hunting for the loose floorboard he’d been told about.

His eyes fall on the bed. An equally childish desire fills his mind to climb on it, flop on his back and paw the air until Slade came over and played with him. It would never happen, but the thought makes him smile the half-toothed smile. He has the urge to slip back into the room like a cat returning to its den, to rub his scent on the furniture, and curl up in the blankets and furs where it’s warm. Compared to the kitchens he felt safe here. It was the closest thing he had to a den of his own.

Slade briefly growls for his attention. Jason’s eyes snap back to the Alpha as Slade moves back towards him, reaching into one of his saddlebags. He’s glad he did because he immediately jumps to attack position when Slade takes a gun out of the bag. His hackles are already up and his teeth bared before he sees the Alpha is holding it out to him not pointing it _at_ him. A second later he recognizes it as _his_.

“Here.” Slade says. “Figured you’d be less antsy if you had some way of defending yourself.”

He doesn’t mention Wintergreen had chewed him out last night for expecting good manners from a cornered animal. The old Alpha made it very clear that Jason’s outburst was Slade’s fault for giving him the gun, something he could use to _defend_ himself, then taking it away. Slade still wanted Jason to accept him as his protector, but he’d made a mistake trying to take it slow to ease him into it.  

Jason was more like one of his own than an Omega he’d met on the street; he was in unfamiliar territory so the first things he needed were a defensible position and a weapon to defend it with. Slade can respect that desire, and he was the Alpha here, he needed to provide what his Omega needs. He can provide the weapon now, the other will come when the Omega accepts he’s safe here in Slade’s den.

He holds the pair of guns out to the Omega, pistols, _his_ pistols in fact that he’s ‘reclaimed’ from the outlaws keeping them as trophies. It had taken a bribe, a ridiculously small one taken to save face, but it was mostly his looming presence that was a reminder of who had claimed Jason as his Omega. Neither of the other outlaws wanted to risk challenging him by denying his little request, not over an Omega’s guns.

“Slade…You didn’t.” Jason says with malevolent delight and his fingers twitch.

“Won ‘em in a poker game.” The Alpha lies. “Don’t need to tell you that if anyone else knows you got ‘em you’ll be tied back to that pole before you before you can blink. I won’t be sticking my neck out for you more than once.”

He offers them to Jason and Jason can’t hold himself back. He lunges forwards to wrap his fingers around the black enamelled grips, his fingers briefly brushing against Slade’s as he takes the pistols from him. The familiar weight of them settles back against his palms like a security blanket; they’re even still loaded. For the first time since he’d been captured he really felt like he had a chance to make it out of here alive.

There’s a question on his lips; why was Slade giving him back his guns? He opens his mouth to ask it before he remembered Wintergreen’s words and closes it again. Slade didn’t mind him being armed long as _he_ was the one who did it. He probably viewed it as some twisted form of providing for his Omega.

“I…Thank you.” Jason’s throat goes dry.

He remembers what Wintergreen had told him and steps in closer the Alpha. Slade’s scent seems to get magnitudes of order stronger and he nearly chickens out before he steels himself and leans in all the way. A low growl, curious as much as threatening, rumbles from the Alpha’s closed jaws as Jason takes the plunge and closes the last inch between their skin. Slade’s scent surrounds him as he briefly nuzzles against the scent gland of Slade’s neck, rubbing the Alpha’s scent off on himself. The beard tickles his skin and he feels hyperaware of the rise and fall of the Alpha’s chest as he presses his body up against him. He stays there for a few seconds, the Alpha’s scent seeming to flood his senses even though he tries not to breathe in through his nose. His heart beats in his throat as he forces himself to hold still for a few gut-wrenching seconds. He swallows past the lump in his throat and looks up. The Alpha is looking down at him with his face unreadable.

“Wintergreen put you up to this?” Slade asks with a low rumbling growl.

“…Maybe.” Jason avoids making eye contact.

Slade snorts.

“Don’t nuzzle up to me unless you mean it, boy.” He growls and the hairs on the back of Jason’s neck stand up.

“Yes Alpha.” He says on instinct and Slade’s growl takes a certain edge he can’t place, not _quite_ a threat.

The Alpha’s hand rests in his hair. Jason feels his arm curl around back around Jason’s shoulders.

“I will take care of you, boy.” Slade says softly. “You can trust me on that, alright?”

Jason nods, his mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with sawdust.

“Good.” The Alpha tells him and lets go.

Jason steps back but not far. Arm’s length.

“Thank you.” He says quietly but genuinely as he runs his fingers over the enamelled grips.

He’d been at such a loss without them, it felt like he’d had a hand tied behind his back. Now he had them back he had a chance, a _real_ chance of getting out of here alive. If not, well, he’d make sure to save the last bullet in each gun in case someone tried to kill him. One for them, and one for him. Just knowing he had that _option_ again made him hopeful, that if things went as bad as they could go he had an emergency exit rather than having to take it.

“They’ll do better at keeping you safe than that knife.” Slade snorts.

Jason freezes up, hunching his shoulders defensively again.

“How…?” He starts to ask and Slade looks away with an unimpressed snort.

“You act different when you’ve got a weapon, more confident.” The Alpha says bluntly. “You were in the kitchens, there’s limited weapons, not hard to join the dots.”

“…I stole it.” Jason feels he has to say. His throat is dry and the words stick.

“And I’m sure Wintergreen let you.” Slade sounds unimpressed. “C’mere, there’s a loose floorboard you can use to stash them during the night.”

He meets Jason’s eyes.

“Keep the knife with you if it helps you feel safe.” He says. “But keep the guns hidden while we’re here. You can take them with you when we go out.”

“Out?” Jason asks before he can stop himself.

“Out hunting.” The Alpha says matter-of-factly, before looking down at him with a piercing blue eye. “Or do you prefer the kitchens.”

“Hell no!” Jason quickly replies. “I just didn’t think, after I…”

His words trail off.

Slade makes eye contact and snorts with an amused smile.

“…You’re scared you disappointed me.” He points out and Jason has to fight back a blush he tells himself is out of anger.

 “You’re my protection, asshole.” Jason counters with a snarl. “I know I’m fucked without you!”

His shoulders are hunched, his hackles are up and he’s got his teeth bared, which makes this the least romantic way he’s ever said ‘I need you’ to anyone. Slade’s face is unreadable as he looks Jason over. With a precise care he reaches out rests his hand against Jason’s shoulder. Jason lets him. A faint prickle of discomfort runs over his skin at the touch, but it soon fades and it just feels normal. Nice even.

“You were scared, you made a desperate decision to try and protect yourself.” Slade says softly. “I don’t blame you for that, but I’m not your enemy alright? I’m the closest thing you’re going to get to a friend. You can trust me to protect you. If you need a gun to feel safe, you can just ask. I’m not going to deny you what you need.”

Jason snorts, but his heart isn’t in it. He feels his body relaxing under the gentle petting and even though he knows he _should_ he doesn’t want to shrug off Slade’s hand. He doesn’t nuzzle closer like he wants to, but he does let his eyes close as his breathing steadies. Slade continues the soft stroking of his shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to cause you distress.” The Alpha says solemnly and Jason can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “If it bothers you, I won’t leave your side again.”

Jason half-snarls, unsure how to respond. The hand squeezes his shoulder and it’s actually calming. He snorts, not sure if he wants to move closer. He isn’t sure if thanks would be appropriate or accurate. The Alpha looks away before he can decide and he looks away too. The hand stays on his shoulder.

It had been a risk leaving him in the kitchens but Slade figured he was going to have a bad day either way. He’d rather the Omega see why he needed an Alpha’s protection than solidify the woods as the place where bad things happened. A jumpy, nervous Omega on a hunt was worse than nothing and he wants hunting to be a reward for him. He trusted Wintergreen to keep the boy safe in his absence, but Jason needed to be reminded there were worse options than his company.

Still, he hadn’t exactly lied to the Omega when he said he’d worried about him.

“You needed time to cool down.” Slade levers open a floorboard near the door, it hasn’t been nailed in place and there’s a slender cavity between the floor and the ceiling of the room below. It looks secure, if dusty. Someone else has used it to hide something before, because there’s a dusty rag lining the bottom. Jason puts the pistols into the gap and Slade lets the board drop back into place. “And I needed time to get them.”

The Alpha’s hand strokes gentle circles into his shoulder with his thumb. Jason drifts closer with a frown that says he doesn’t like that he’s doing it.

Slade aches to draw him fully into an embrace, to hold him against his chest and reassure him that it was going to be okay. He also knows that if he did that Jason would panic.

It was clear that the Omega had been abused physically, emotionally and sexually (you couldn’t spend long in a pack of psychs without picking some things up).

Maybe he was still being abused. The Bat hadn’t looked the type but Jason was the first Omega of his Pack Slade had met, maybe he was worse to his Omegas.

For now he settles for standing at the Omega’s back and breathing in his scent. He’d missed it.

Still, there was more than one way to skin a cat, and more than one way to get an Omega to cuddle up to you.

“Bed.” He says quietly and the Omega starts, turning towards him with wide eyes and making it hard not to kiss him.

“It’s still early.” Jason says hesitantly.

“I know.” Slade confirms.

The Omega breathes out a sigh, shifting his weigh and lowering his shoulders.

“…Alright.” Jason pulls his eyes away from the loose board. He stretches and yawns. “I had a pretty shitty night's sleep last night.”

“I can tell.” Slade smirks. “All the more reason to get some rest now, isn’t it?”

Jason sighs but when Slade pulls back the back the blankets he’s happy to climb in next to the Alpha. Slade’s scent is warm and thick and as his arms curl around Jason he feels _safe_ now. He happily tucks himself into the Alpha’s arms, nuzzling against his neck genuinely this time which makes the Alpha’s low growl return. He doesn’t mind it, he’s happy and he wants to rub the Alpha’s scent on him. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed Slade’s scent until he’d gone the day without it. That strong woodsy kind of smell with its hints of pine, snow and animal blood was a reassurance to him. He had his guns, and a warm bed with an Alpha who wasn’t angry with him, he’s going to make it through this.

God, Gotham has been ruined for him forever. He’s never going to be able to sleep without an Alpha to curl around again. He’s probably going to end up spooning a pillow and crying for _weeks_. Even if he does manage to convince Bruce to let an Alpha stay with him it’s not going to be the same without that woodsy warm scent, he’s going to always be hunting for Slade’s smell.

He’s going to have to steal so many shirts when he leaves, Jason thinks muzzily as he nuzzles against Slade’s neck. Fuck what the pack thinks about him smelling like a strange Alpha.

He tries to tell himself it’s for the tactical advantage; Omegas liked to sleep with their backs to a wall so they were protected from attack, and Alphas liked to sleep with their backs to the door so they could block any oncoming attack with their bodies to protect their Omega. It made better sense _tactically_ for him to sleep in Slade’s arms, but even if he tried telling Bruce that he knows Bruce would just insist he should have worked harder to resist his instincts. Bruce was hard-headed about that. The first time he’d suggested that maybe Jason was acting so moody was because his Heat was coming up Barbara had torn into him so viciously it had almost been a dominance challenge.

While he had to admit it was flattering to have Alphas fight over him, he wished that Bruce trusted him to make his own decisions.

He knew what he was doing. He had this under control.


	4. Chapter 4

Jason dreams of home.

Not the dirt-floored hovel he grew up in, that hadn’t been home even when it was all he had, but his _real_ home. The first and only real den he’d had, in a place that was green instead of covered in dirt.

The Manor was as big as the entire street Jason grew up on, and that was just the _house_. The grounds also included a private wood kept stocked with game, something Jason had read rich people had but hadn’t really believed until he’d seen it. The place he’d grown up in had four rooms and even the biggest was about half the size of his room here.

His room…It was still weird to think he had one. He used to have a blanket in the corner. Having a whole room to be his den still felt strange, like he was imposing on his Pack by taking up so much _space_. He’d shoved the bed against one corner so it was taking up the minimum amount of room. What things he’d kept from his old home took up a single box at the bottom of the wardrobe he rarely used. He wasn’t much for _things,_ especially if he felt he hadn’t earned them. He didn’t put up paintings or posters or _decorate_. What clothes he had were what was necessary, worn as necessary, and bought by Bruce. The one thing he did feel was _his,_ not on loan from Bruce, was his bookshelf.

He hadn’t been able to read when Bruce found him; he didn’t have any schooling at all unless you counted living on the streets as an education. Most people didn’t. When Bruce had taken him in his lack of education was one of many things the Alpha had felt must be corrected. The lessons had been hard, everything had been hard, but he’d liked learning how to read more than learning how to fight better. The books he had were his rewards for doing well in his lessons. They were kept in perfect order, in military straight rows, their covers bound in colored leather and embossed with his name in gold. He could tell if anyone else as much as touched them, his nose was the sharpest in the Pack, and he was very protective of his things. Even Alfred wasn’t permitted to dust them, he took care of that himself.

Jason hadn’t been raised in a world where people gave you things; _everything_ had a price, a gift was just something with a price tag you couldn’t see until you were called on to pay it back. He still didn’t know what Bruce wanted from him to repay his kindness, so Jason gave him everything he had and knew every second of every damn day it wasn’t enough. He owed the Alpha more than anyone could ever repay and he lived in fear that one day the debt would be called in and _he wouldn’t be able to pay Bruce back._ It would be a betrayal, only worse because the only betrayal was that Bruce thought he was better than he actually was and he hadn’t been able to live up to that expectation. Until then he did whatever he could to reduce the debt, part of that was not accepting any gift that wasn’t essential.

The blankets and pillows he’d used to make a rough nest were all things he’d earned or scavenged, except for one. The massive quilted comforter he had been given when he was adopted into the family. It was thick and warm and big enough to make a nest all by itself when he was younger.

At first he’d thought Alfred had made it all himself, later he’d picked up on the different stitching of the patches made by Bruce and Dick. Bruce’s patches were selected from things he thought would mean something to Jason in an abstract artistic kind of way, normally in subtle colors and highest quality fabric. The patches Dick made were bright and cheerful things that Dick liked and wanted to share with Jason too; mostly birds and animals from far-away places when they weren’t made-up. He’d been too scared of looking stupid to ask which ones were real.

The quilt had been passed from pack member to pack member often enough to be seeped in their scent. Having it wrapped around him was just like being curled up in a warm hug with the whole pack. Even though its normal place was on his bed whenever a member of the Pack was tired, sick or just feeling down it had a way of ending up around their shoulders. Dick hadn’t been back since the big fight. His scent was faded compared to Bruce’s…

Jason can feel its familiar warmth and the familiar mix of scents that meant he was safe again. He nuzzles against the familiar feeling fabric, rubbing his own scent against it.

Home, he’s home…

There’s a rasp of curtains being drawn and a beam of golden sunlight falls onto Jason’s sleeping face. He opens his eyes, blinking in the sunlight, and sees through the window the flowers in the garden have all bloomed in a grounded rainbow burst of color. It’s spring. He’s home and spring is here!

Bruce stands silhouetted by the morning sunlight, the curtain cord still held in one hand.

Bruce often had to come and get the youngest member of his pack up in the morning, Jason was decidedly not a morning person. Part of him wanted to curl up in his den and stay there, where it couldn’t be taken away from him. First his father had been arrested, then his mother had overdosed, some childish part of him believed that he could stop himself from losing everything _again_ if only he stayed at home. It was Omega instinct to defend a fortified position and Bruce took the phrase ‘a man’s house is his castle’ as literally as possible.

He yawns. Bruce looks at him and his eyes are like two slivers of blue ice. A chill runs down Jason’s spine. There’s barely contained rage but also…disappointment.

Bruce’s furious, with that cold fury that seemed a hair away from breaking out of him, like a werewolf from the old stories held on a leash of a single hair. When he got that angry he tended to break things; buildings, promises, _people_. It’s a rage Jason’s only seen three times before, every time after Bruce had lost someone important to him and blamed himself for it. When Bruce was angry, _really_ angry, he didn’t shout like Jason’s sire had. He went cold and sharp and quiet. Bruce was usually quiet but that was because he didn’t like wasting words on idle chatter. When the killing rage was on him every word cut as deep as a dagger. Those were times that reminded you just how frail a thing a man’s self-control could be. Bruce had never killed, but it hadn’t been from lack of _wanting to._

For a moment Jason wonders why his father is looking at him with such cold eyes. Then he realizes he still has the arms of a sleeping Slade curled around his shoulders.

Jason jolts awake, literally. His entire body twitches as if struck and flings him back into consciousness, as if his soul had rejected the dream so hard it had catapulted him back into reality. His eyes shoot open, his heart thudding hard in his chest as he draws in a sharp gasp of air. A wave of gut-wrenching nausea, a home _sickness_ swamps him. He gags, rolling over to face the floor as a cold shiver runs over him, but he keeps his food down. The nausea fades, but the longing for home remains. His shoulders shiver as the unpleasant sick chill of a cold sweat breaks over him.

If Bruce could see him now…If Bruce could _see_ him…

His body locks up as the thought makes him submit, _hard._ The Alpha next to him stirs and Jason tenses further as a hand touches his back, before it strokes down it like it’s soothing a wild animal. Jason relaxes enough that his muscles are no longer painfully knotted with the tension. Still half asleep he presses closer against the Alpha’s chest and deeply breathes in his scent. He misses his blanket, warm and safe and filled with the scent of his Pack’s Alphas, and he craves the comfort of an Alpha scent. He _shouldn’t_ be relaxing here, in a pack of outlaws, but Slade’s scent does calm him. He smells like a _strong_ Alpha, strong enough to fight anything and win. It’s a primal kind of comfort knowing the Alpha could fight off any danger.

“Bad dreams sweetheart?” Slade grins, resting his hand in Jason’s hair.

The words feel bitter, like the Alpha somehow knows what he’d been dreaming about. If Bruce saw him like this would he be disappointed that Jason hadn’t fought harder? Would he hate him for not being such a danger the outlaws had to kill him?

When the Omega doesn’t shrug him off Slade starts stroking his fingers through Jason’s hair. Jason melts. He’s vaguely aware that grooming was a thing Alphas did with Omegas, Bruce was never very touchy-feely and in the slums it had been considered wussy for an Alpha to show that kind of affection. He doubts Slade would agree if he said that though.

“You’re a prick, you know that?” Jason mutters as he nuzzles against the Alpha’s chest with his eyes closed. “The biggest bastard I’ve ever met.”

“So you tell me.” Slade says with a smirk.

“…Miss home.” Jason mutters under his breath, not realizing he’s said it out loud until the stroking of his hair stops.

“Winter’ll be over soon.” Slade says softly. “You just have to hold on a little longer.”

“Mrrrrrghf.” Even Jason isn’t sure what the sound’s supposed to be, it’s just one drawn out syllable of wordless complaint ending in a snort.

Slade chuckles and resumes stroking his hair.

“That may be, but we’ve still gotta get up.” He says and Jason snorts.

The Omega yawns as he pulls himself upright. His lip curls at the coldness of the room. He’s already out of bed and gathering the day’s clothes before he realizes he’s been letting an Alpha pet him.

It’s a damn good thing none of his family was here, he’d never live it down if they saw him blushing. It’s a gesture more intimate than he should allow, but he hadn’t immediately pushed the Alpha away like he should have. He’d let Slade groom him and he’d _liked_ it.

Bruce only groomed him when they had a gala or some other public appearance. Jason couldn’t begrudge him that seeing as Bruce often forgot to eat, his sire hadn’t groomed him either. Still, the feeling of fingers combing through his hair had been…nice.

 _How long as it been since Bruce last touched you?_ a dark part of his mind whispers to him, _Not to train you or to punish you but to comfort you and make you feel safe? When was the last time he showed you he cared? Can you even remember it?_

He forces himself to supress it, but that voice has been getting louder and it’s getting harder to ignore it. Jason realizes he’s been getting dressed on autopilot and has put his left leg through the right leg of his pants. He frowns and gets dressed properly, trying not to think about how quickly he’d gotten used to sleeping in an Alpha’s bed. He sets his jaw stubbornly as he re-enters the room.

Slade gives Jason a brief look over. The Alpha looks unimpressed and takes a meaningful step towards him. Jason gives a tiny growl of warning and hunches his shoulders.

“Let me tidy you up.” Slade snorts. “You’re still a mess.”

Jason glares but steps closer with his shoulders still defensively squared. He snorts a small ‘don’t you dare fuck with me’ warning snort as he enters the Alpha’s threat range.

“Don’t think that just because I missed you yesterday I’m going to roll over for you.” Jason huffs, rolling his eyes, but he lets Slade rests his fingers in the Omega’s hair.

Slade makes a low comforting growl deep in his chest as he combs his fingers through Jason’s hair. The Omega gives him one last warning look before he lets his eyes slide close and leans into the touch. It’s clear from his faint, uncertain shiver that he’s not used to this, and that was heart-breaking to Slade.

How long had it been since he was last groomed properly? An Alpha had a responsibility to keep their pack looking orderly; grooming strengthened ties of loyalty between pack members and signalled they were part of a pack that cared for them. That the Bat hadn’t taken the time every _damn_ day to remind Jason he was _his_ raised Slade’s ire. If he hadn’t been wearing the black when they first met Slade would think Jason was packless, it was serve the Bat right if his neglect led to a new Alpha claiming him. Jason deserved to have a _real_ Alpha in his life.

Slade curbs his own desire to drag this moment out to tease him, to make it clear to the Omega he is _owned,_ in favour of letting him get used to it slowly. A few quick sweeps of his fingers loosen the last bedtime tangles from Jason’s hair. The Omega nuzzles against him without seeming to realize he’s doing it.

It’s hard to stop and even harder not to just kiss him when the Omega looks up at him. Jason quickly breaks eye contact, looking down at the floor rather than meet the Alpha’s eye in case he asks for more petting. He runs a hand over the rough stubble on his chin.

“I need a shave.” He says ruefully.

“Fine.” The Alpha says bluntly. “Come on.”

Jason frowns but he’s already moving into step with the Alpha as Slade pulls open the door. He nearly forgets to take the gun with them as they leave, but he manages to take it from the hidden space under the floor and hide it on his person before they go. The weight of it against his hip is reassuring. He doesn’t want to be left behind but being out in the open means being watched and his shoulders raise defensively. He silently snarls at the shadows.

He doesn’t _like_ being here in a building with outlaws. He’s always looking out for the first attack, relying on Slade to keep him safe. He stays close to the Alpha. No-one looks at him, he doesn’t see anyone else at all in the time it takes for them to descend to the ground floor. The part of him that sounded like Bruce reminds him to take tactical data and he does, keeping one eye on the shadows and the other on Slade’s back. He maps the path they take, the structure of the building, the number of rooms and who might be in them. He tries to lose himself in the data as the door opens.

The icy blast of winter wind is enough to wake him up and he feels refreshed by the cold. It’s not snowing right now but the sky’s the grey of eiderdown and the night’s snowfall stretches out in an unbroken blanket of white. Beautiful. He draws in a deep lungful of the chilly air and feels it prickle in his lungs. Surrounded only by the winter woods he finds himself relaxing.

The closest thing there was to a bathroom was a shed by the stables that Slade leads him inside.

Someone had nailed a buffed sheet of metal to a beam and Jason finds his eyes drawn to the reflected motion. His eyes meet the eyes of himself in the mirror, at first instinct making him tense for a fight before he registers it its him in the mirror.

He’s ridden rougher before, he’s not messy enough to be unrecognizable, but the Jason reflected in the sheet iron looks like a hunted animal. He half-heartedly flashes his teeth at his reflection. He has bags under his eyes and a scruff of stubble not quite enough for a beard but enough to make him look messy. His hair is at least passable, but no-one could look at him and think he was a claimed Omega. Good. In that he at least looked like himself.

With a sharp ‘crack’ Slade shatters the crust of ice that’s formed on top of the water barrel. He brushes aside the shards of ice to draw up two palmfuls of water and tips it over his face. The droplets of ice-water shine like diamonds as they stick to his beard. He smirks and Jason realizes he’s been looking too closely. He breaks eye contact with a snort, looking down at the ground, then back at the Alpha less intently.

Slade snorts.

“Are you going to wash yourself or no you want me to do it?” He asks.

Jason briefly glares and dips his hands into the water barrel. The water’s near freezing but it’s clean. He rubs the water over his skin, cleaning all the parts he can reach. He’d love a bath but the river’s too cold for that now. He’d have to make do. He gives his skin a thorough scrubbing with the ice water, letting the chill of it shock his skin into awareness, before swallowing a few gulps. It’s good.

A small sound immediately sets his teeth on edge, his hairs raising in ancient instinct. His head snaps around to face the Alpha, his lip already raising to show a warning glimpse of teeth. The opened straight razor shines in the early morning light. The Alpha leans against the wall, unhurried as he takes a grindstone from a pouch and starts to sharpen the blade. Jason growls, long and low under his breath, at the familiar sound that means he’s in danger. When Slade finishes sharpening and turns the blade over to inspect it light shines off the edge. Jason snarls.

“Sit.” Slade orders.

“I’m not a pup, I don’t need you to shave me!” Jason snorts.

Slade gives him a stern look.

“I don’t trust you with a razor, boy.”

 _‘Yet you trust me with a gun._ ’ Jason thinks, but the thought is silenced when Slade rests a hand on his shoulder.

“Let me look after you.” He says softly in the Omega’s ear, and Jason can’t argue with that. Didn’t Wintergreen tell him not to? He was supposed to be playing nice…

Jason didn’t care much about his appearance, he was a bounty hunter not a table dancer, but Slade’s scent was so good and his fingers were so gentle. He’d break his brother’s nose if he suggested it out loud but damnit, he wants to be fussed over. Just a little. It doesn’t make him less of a man damnit!

He’s not sure who he’s arguing with, the ghost of his sire or his memory of Bruce.

Slade grips his chin, turning it up so Jason has no choice but to face him. The razor shines in his other hand. Jason realizes he’s holding his breath.

“Stay still.” Slade softly orders him. “We’re gonna take this slow.”

Jason feels a warm buzz of submission hum in the base of his skull at the Alpha’s gentle touch. It’s not like the feeling he’d had after their fight over the gun, it’s more like the warmth he felt wrapped in the Alpha’s arms as they slept. He can trust this Alpha. He’s safe.

He breathes out slowly and when he breathes in Slade’s Alpha scent is warm in the air around him. His body relaxes and he stays still as the Alpha rubs the shaving cream over his chin.

There’s a brief twinge of discomfort, not that he’s letting an Alpha touch him, but that Alpha’s seen him looking so scruffy. He snuffs that discomfort before he can brood, telling his higher brain functions to shut up and let him enjoy this. He’s close to purring by the time the blade is brought closer to his face.

Slade lets go of his chin for the first time since he’s started and his fingers stroke Jason’s cheek. A wave of sensation sweeps over the Omega, both warm and electrifying. Slade’s not even touching his neck and he’s locked up in the good way, his body filled with a comfortable warm haze. It feels like he’s melting like a marshmallow in the sun, except for where Slade’s fingers touch him to stretch out the skin for the blade and send shocks of sensation through the Omega.

Maybe it was just him but this situation feels kinda…erotic. Slade’s low tone, the closeness of his body, the way he was gently touching the Omega, his hindbrain translated it as ‘Give this Alpha anything and everything he wants’. Everything’s filtering through a warm haze of comfort. The quiet rasp of the razor against his skin seems distant over the sound of them breathing in sync. That small motion, the gentle pressure of hand and blade against his skin, seems as tender and intimate as holding hands, possibly more. Slade’s calloused fingertips are firm and purposeful as they move across Jason’s skin, directing him into position with simple motions.

Jason doesn’t think when Slade applies gentle pressure to the underside of his jaw. He just bares his neck for the Alpha. The cutthroat razor glides down along one of the most vulnerable and _sensitive_ spots of his anatomy with ease. It sends a lightning bolt of sensation through his frozen body, cutting through the warmth like ice water being dribbled down his spine.

_God._

“There. Done.” Slade taps the razor on the edge of the sink to dislodge the fuzz.

Jason blinks, having to call his soul back to his body before it starts working again. He’s uncomfortably aware he’s probably gotten slick. He can’t tell how long he’s been sitting still for the Alpha. His limbs are still tingling with fading warmth, like he’s just stepped away from a roaring fire. It’s a good feeling, not like coming down from a forced submission, more like waking up after a good night’s sleep.

He raises a hand to his jawline on instinct. It’s smooth, closest shave he’s ever had and the thought’s amusing. Letting a known killer take a cutthroat razor to his neck damn well _ought to be_ a close shave. A dry squeak dies in his throat as he tries to speak before he’s ready. He clears his throat and tries again.

“Thanks…” He says.

Slade snorts dismissively, wordlessly saying ‘just doing my job’ in a way Jason doesn’t think about until much later.

Jason shifts on the spot and winces, yeah, he’s definitely gotten a little slick from this. He can feel a dab of wetness between his legs, not enough for anyone to smell it past his clothes but enough to be embarrassing. He hates that; what kind of weirdo got aroused from shaving? It’s the touch, he tells himself, having an Alpha he trusts touch his skin, touch his _throat,_ brought up a welling of bonding hormones.

There’s a content laxness still lingering in his limbs as he watches Slade tidy up his beard with the razor. It’s comfortable, cosy even. He hasn’t been this calm in the morning for a long, long time.

“So what’s on the agenda today?” Jason asks as he watches Slade shave. “Because if it’s staying in the kitchens I’m gonna stab someone.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Slade says as he navigates the area under his nose. “Wolves’ve been causing trouble for the other hunters. They’ve left it up to us to take care of it.”

Slade’s tone makes it clear this is supposed to be a punishment, making the Alpha endanger himself to prove his loyalty to the Pack. If he doesn’t succeed it’ll be taken as proof Jason is making him weaker and he’ll lose standing in the Pack.

Jason feels a bristle of defensive anger on the Alpha’s behalf, followed by a snapping at himself that Slade’s _Pack Standing_ is NOT something he cares about. He is going to let his stupid fucking Omega hormones fuck him up now. Slade was just another murderer in a pack of murderers. He isn’t going to go doe-eyed and roll over for a cold-blooded killer who just _happened_ to be looking after him.

For reasons other than sex. That’s the sticking point.

It isn’t just his presentation, Jason knew damn well there was a certain…status that came with being an outlaw who’d fucked a bounty hunter. It was the ultimate way to show they were above the law. Dick had taught him that and hadn’t explained how he knew. It wasn’t that he’d _prefer_ being used as a fucktoy, but it would at least be predictable. He’d know what the Alphas got out of it: humiliating and hurting a bounty hunter and having a hole to rest their knot in. The uneasiness Jason felt around Slade was a familiar feeling; it was like being around Bruce. Jason owned him his life, the biggest debt you could owe someone, and he didn’t know how to pay it back.

“Why are you helping me?” Jason asks him. “If you’re waiting for me to spread my legs you’ll be waiting a long time.”

“Killin’ you would be a waste.” Slade tells him. He doesn’t say it like a compliment, he says it like a fact.

Jason flashes a fang more out of surprise than aggression. Slade snorts.

“Some of us are capable of thinking ahead.” He says snidely. “And you’re the type of Omega that’s twice the trouble dead as alive. You die and it won’t just be the one with blood on their hands that hangs. Your Pack will send everyone there to the noose one way or another.”

He closes the razor.

“I ain’t paid enough to deal with that.”

Jason can’t help but smile. Slade’s expression talking about a potential blood feud is the same look of grumpy disgust as when Bruce had to do paperwork.

“How much would they have to pay for you to deal with that?” He asks teasingly.

“Too much. It isn’t worth it for a pretty face. Unlike your Sire I know better than to stick my dick in wild cats.” Slade snorts.

“I ain’t no cat.” Jason snorts back.

“Nah, you’re more of a loyal mutt.” Slade grins and Jason bristles.

“I ain’t no-one’s bitch either.” He snaps.

“You sure about that?” Slade turns his head to look down on him. “You keep relaxing then punishing yourself for it, like you’re scared the Bat’s lurking around the corner giving you marks.”

“He normally is.” Jason mutters under his breath.

Slade puts a hand on his shoulder. Jason pulls away from it, half-heartedly baring his teeth. Slade gives him a stern look and Jason sheepishly avoids meeting his eye. He nudges apologetically against the hand.

“Sorry.” He mumbles. “’m on edge.”

“That’s what livin’ with Bats does, it gets ya all twisted in the head.” Slade says under his breath. He raises his hand to gently stroke Jason’s hair. “It’s going to be _okay_ boy, I’m here for ya, alright?”

“…Alright.” Jason breathes out. He can feel the lingering warmth of a comfortable submission still under his skin.

He lets his cheek rest against Slade’s hand, and just breathes easy for a moment, he’s not sure how long before his stomach growls. He pulls away, looking down with a small angry growl at his disobedient body. Slade chuckles and strokes his fingers through Jason’s hair.

“Come on, let’s get you fed.” The Alpha says and Jason couldn’t agree more.

He eagerly moves to the Alpha’s side as they head to the kitchen, not arm’s reach but close enough that if Slade wanted to he could easily put his arm around Jason’s waist. They’re practically touching as they walk. He’s clean and warm and happy, all Jason wants now is to fill his belly with hot meat and all will be good in the world. If he had a tail, it would be wagging.

The pleasant buzz of a happy submission lingers under his skin, he tries to hold onto the unfamiliar feeling as long as he can. That’s why it takes until he sees the door for his discomfort to eat through the good feeling.

“Slade…” He says in a croak, his voice catching in his throat in a terrible dry rasp.

Slade looks at him and Jason clears his throat, fighting down the desire to stay silent to not disappoint him. Omega instinct said don’t ruin the moment; stay quiet and enjoy Alpha’s company while he had it. Stay quiet, stay out of the way, don’t give him an excuse to hurt you.

“I don’t think I can…” His head ducks apologetically, trying to avoid meeting Slade’s eye. His voice catches in his throat.

Slade’s hand touches his shoulder and Jason flinches, his shoulders already starting to raise to protect his head from the blow he knows is coming. The hand moves up to his hair and the _relief_ is sharp enough to hurt. Grooming means he won’t be hit.

Jason’s shoulders lower and he breathes out, his heartbeat returning to normal. He nuzzles apologetically against the hand without caring he’s doing it. Slade lets the Omega rub his own scent into the Alpha’s skin until he’s calmed down.

Jason purrs. He doesn’t mean to, a low growl that was the equivalent to the Alpha’s rumble just slips out for a second. He feels too happy to contain and it just…happens, as natural as breathing, without him realizing. He hears Slade’s pleased snort but doesn’t realize why until afterwards.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to let me feed you.” Slade tells him softly. “Just as long as you get fed.”

He moves his hand and, without thinking, Jason licks it. Slade growls low, a warning but not a sign of displeasure. Jason flushes, he can’t pretend _that_ was just him thinking of Bruce. Licking was…licking was… _God,_ he can taste himself on Slade’s skin. Slade’s taste was so much stronger than his scent, but he could still taste himself on Slade’s hand. He freezes up with a squeak.

“…That’s another one of those things you shouldn’t do unless you mean it.” Slade says carefully.

Jason can only trust himself to nod. Part of him doesn’t believe he just _did that_ , another part is fixated on the _taste_ of Slade in his mouth. He _likes_ how they taste together. He rolls his tongue around his mouth, exploring the taste of the Alpha’s skin to keep himself distracted.

He stays at Slade’s side, letting himself be led, and trying his hardest to ignore the prickling discomfort of being seen. Only a few Omegas are paying attention to him, but they’re exchanging smug looks. He’s here in Slade’s clothes, with Slade’s scent on him, Slade’s hand still on his shoulder, and the memory of Slade’s fingers running through his hair still fresh in his mind. They think he’s owned. He can’t prove he’s not.

The hairs on the back of his neck are standing on end. Jason subconsciously draws closer to Slade, trusting in the Alpha to protect his back. He’s not so outnumbered and they’re not so close he needs to bare his teeth as Slade gets them a bowl of the venison stew. Jason can tell without looking that it’ll have more meat that anyone else’s. The benefits of having the camp’s cook on your side, Wintergreen knew how to grease the way. Jason pretends he doesn’t see the approving look the old Alpha’s giving them. He pretends he hasn’t noticed Slade’s hand still on his shoulder either.

Slade keeps his hand on Jason’s shoulder as they leave, and even after they’re out of sight and Jason can breathe free, he doesn’t shrug it off.

They find a quiet corner by the stables to eat.

Jason tucks himself into a dark corner, going back to the habits of when he was a street rat hiding to gnaw at a crust of stolen bread. It keeps him hidden and out of the wind. He doesn’t object when Slade takes a seat next to him, he moves close so the bulk of the Alpha’s body is shielding him from the cold.  It coincidentally means his head is resting by Slade’s shoulder, like when they slept.

Slade presses a spoon into one of his hands and the warm bowl of stew into the other and Jason settles down to eat. It’s a simple stew but right now it smells like the best thing in the world. He wolfs it down.

The venison is lean and savoury and it falls apart in his mouth. It’s good meat. Without thinking he picks up a morsel of meat between his fingers and holds it out for the Alpha.

“Here.” He offers it and immediately regrets it when Slade leans in and sucks the morsel out of his fingers.

“Meat you’ve killed yourself always tastes better.” The outlaw muses.

Jason murmurs a vague agreement. He tries not to think about the feeling of Slade’s lips on his fingertips. He has a spoon, why did he do that? He hands the bowl over to the Alpha to cover his confusion.

He needs to calm down. He wasn’t a puppy he shouldn’t be taking this so personally. Slade’s grooming him because it’d be suspicious if he didn’t. He’s not going to be hit for not being grateful, he’s not being called on to show off how much he cares in front of a crowd. It was just grooming, next thing he’d be rolling over for Slade and that was something his dignity couldn’t come back from. There’s ways to show gratitude that aren’t _flirting_.

What would he do if it worked? He’d _licked_ the Alpha, if Slade kissed him and he pulled away, what excuse could he have? That he didn’t mean it, like he was just toying with the Alpha? That would get him thrown to the rest of the Pack like Roman wanted, at _least_. He doesn’t want to think about what Slade could do to him if he thought he was being taken for a ride. It was clear the outlaw Alpha had his pride; Jason couldn’t insult it and escape unharmed.

Out of habit he forces himself into the pattern of breathing Bruce taught him to meditate. He pulls himself back into martial focus. He will be in control of his body and his mind. He wasn’t an animal. He wasn’t going to let his instinct rule him. He can let an Alpha touch him without falling over himself to please him. Slade’s looked after him so far, he doesn’t need to roll over to keep his protection.

Slade was…well not a good person considering he was an outlaw, but he was a good Alpha. Jason didn’t have to be fucking him to see that Slade would take care of him. They both want this to work, he can’t waste energy on being on guard and hostile all the time, he’d die of stress before winter ended. Slade and Jason both want the same thing after all; for Jason to last the winter. For now, he can trust Slade.

To prove it to himself Jason lets his head rest against the Alpha’s shoulder, where the Alpha scent is clear even over the metallic tang of snow and the savory smell of stew.

Slade is a _strong_ Alpha, strong enough to lead a pack of his own. That’s appealing on a base level. It makes Jason want to protect him, not in the Alpha way of shows of strength, but in the subtler, more dangerous way of an Omega. Alphas protected a territory and Omegas protected the Pack. Slade wasn’t part of his Pack, he wasn’t his Alpha, but he was _important._ Slade was his lifeline, his one way to get out of this unharmed. Right now nothing was more important to Jason than keeping him alive, keeping him strong enough to face down any threat. It’s the best thing to keep himself safe.

The rattle of a spoon in an empty bowl brings him back to reality. He breathes out slowly, bringing his full focus to bear on the task at hand. He’s not going to let panic overwhelm him this time. This time he’ll prove his worth. The Alpha smiles at the steel in his eyes.

“Come on boy. Time to saddle up.” He says.

“I have a name.” Jason mutters under his breath, more out of habit than anything else seeing as he’s already moving to obey the Alpha’s orders.

It doesn’t feel quite so humiliating sitting pillion position this time, maybe because he’s not being pulled into it.

“See, things can be right comfortable around here if you cooperate.” Slade lightly teases him.

Jason snorts but still willingly wraps his arms around the Alpha’s waist before the horse carries them away, into the woods.

It’s strange, this desolate winter, a cold empty place devoid of life, felt safer to him than the island of life and warmth that was the hunting lodge. Maybe it was knowing the most dangerous thing in this place was the one he had his arms around.

Jason lets his eyes slide closed for a moment, focusing on the warmth of the body he can feel in his arms, the _strength_ in the muscle moving and their heartbeats synchronize.

When he opens this eyes again he feels like the world is really in focus for the first time in years. His heart is beating like a warm drum in his chest, a low primal satisfaction fills his bones. The worries of civilized life have drifted away to be replaced with the cold certainties of his instincts. Alpha and Omega are united in pursuit of their prey, it was a time when their instincts were in sync. Even if traditionalists tried to argue an Omega should stay in the Den with the pups where they were safe, Jason knows this is where he belonged and Slade isn’t trying to stop him.

This was the Hunt.

He’s nearly drooling as they find the trail of small pocks of pawprints against the fresh snow. They dismount the horse and follow carefully, breath hanging in the freezing air, while they move through the snow as silently as they could. The thin lines of snares set by another hunter are barely visible in the snow. Jason couldn’t spot them without his training, but the Alpha at his side doesn’t need them pointed out. A few hang empty, tiny dangling nooses hanging against the snow-dusted bark. They stop to inspect them, but there are no marks in the leather cord to indicate anything other than a lucky escape of whatever triggered it.

They move on.

Jason keeps his ears pricked, listening out for any subtle sound that might betray danger. In winter the woods that were normally so full of life seem to be filled with little more than the vast echoing emptiness of wind through the trees. There’s small sounds though, the sound of packed snow dripping in lumps from the clumped needles, the crackle of loose bark and the occasional crack of a branch snapping under the weight of the snowfall. He has to stay sharp, listening for the small sounds made by something other than the background noise.

Despite his vigilance they see the wolf before he hears it.

The gray furred thing is easy enough to mistake for a shadow at first. It’s at the base of a tree, sheltered by an overhang of the snow-ladden branches. Slade sees it at the same time Jason does, stilling in the way only a hunter did when they saw prey. The wolf hasn’t seen them yet, its head is low and its tail down as it sniffs at the snow. Jason immediately scouts the area for signs of its pack, but the woods all around are barren of life in every direction. The world seems like an empty place, a desolate plain where the only things that are alive are them and the wolf still hopefully sniffing at the air. It’s an animal, just an animal desperate to survive like any other.

Its fur is ragged and it’s thin, too thin to possibly survive the winter alone, and it must be alone. All alone without a Pack to go back to, starving here in the woods with killers…

There’s a soft click of a rifle being cocked and Slade raises his gun to his shoulder. For a brief moment Jason mourns the wolf, then Slade pulls the trigger.

A crack like thunder splits the air, but the wolf doesn’t fall against the snow with a flower of dark red blood blooming across its grey fur. Instead a pale pockmark chips into the bark of a nearby pine with a brief cloud of snow and splinters. The wolf turns tail and runs, ears flat against its head. In a few steps it’s a grey shape on the horizon, then it’s gone.

Slade’s missed.

No, Jason looks up at the outlaw, Slade wasn’t the kind of outlaw who would just _miss_ a shot like that. He hadn’t been trying to hit the wolf. It’s pathetic he feels grateful. It’s just a wolf, a dumb wild animal, he shouldn’t _care_ about it. He breathes out and relaxes the tension he doesn’t know he was holding. Part of him wants to thank the Alpha, a larger part doesn’t know what he’s thanking the Alpha for.

Slade notes his tension, if not the reason for it, and moves in closer. Jason takes a step closer to the Alpha, shifting his attention from the wolf’s trail to the Alpha.

He stays at Slade’s side, listening to the measured pace of the Alpha’s breathing as they check the rest of the snares. There are no further wolves, but several hanging rabbits with their fur dusted white with snow. Jason adds the stiffened bodies to the saddlebags. With the meat from the deer and stock from the soup they’ll be set for a while, more if they tapped the bones of the deer for the marrow. They have food, the hunt is a success, but as they ride back all Jason can do is wonder why he was so prepared to cry over the death of a mangy, fleabitten mutt. He’d been hunted by wolves, it was the reason he’d hoped for a quick death of being shot over being torn apart by the things. For all he knew that wolf was the same as the ones who hunted him. Why, in that moment between the gun being cocked and it being fired, did he feel like he was the one about to be shot instead?

His arms tighten around the Alpha’s middle and Slade grunts at the sudden increase in pressure. Jason snorts and slackens his grip an inch.

He doesn’t like this feeling, this strange sad-but-still-grateful feeling he doesn’t know the words for. Part of him wants to cry, but in this weather there’s a risk his tears would freeze.

He’s silent as they make their way back to the lodge, silent as the stallion’s returned to the stables and silent as the results of their grim harvest are removed from the saddlebags.

“Think you can handle these?” Slade asks as he hands over the carcasses.

Jason nods, and only then manages to ask.

“Why didn’t you shoot that wolf?” He says with his throat dry.

“That old thing? Hardly worth the bother.” The Alpha snorts. “Why? You looking to get a new pair o’ furlined gloves?”

Jason shakes his head.

“Forget it.” He mutters and hauls the rabbit carcasses up. “I’ll take care of these.”

“Right.” Slade holds out a hand. “Gun.”

“What, like I’m going to start something!” Jason protests.

“Gun.” Slade repeats more insistently and Jason hands it over without arguing any further. “Still got yer knife?”

Jason pats where he’s hidden it.

“Right, that’ll see you clear.” Slade puts his hand on Jason’s shoulder, then moves it up and briefly strokes his hair, nearly cupping the Omega’s cheek, before leaving.

It takes Jason a few moments to process that, and by the time he does Slade’s long past seeing any response from him.

Jason scowls at nothing and mutters some vague grumble under his breath before squaring his shoulders and pushing into the kitchens. The knife is a comforting weight in his clothes, reminding him how easy it could be to draw and _cut._ It’s a small blade but he could make it do the work.

He pushes his way into the kitchens with his shoulders squared, rabbits under one arm and his other hand free n case he needs to defend himself.

“How did it go?” Wintergreen asks as Jason drops the rabbit carcasses on a free bench.

“What?” Jason asks distractedly, still thinking about the feeling of Slade’s fingers in his hair.

“Boy, you’ve got the look of somebody who’s seen the light at the end of the tunnel but ain’t sure if it’s heaven or an oncoming train,” the old Alpha snorts, “So you best be telling me what happened so I know if I’m giving Slade a pat on the back or tanning his hide for what he’s done.”

“It’s nothing, I’m just mulling some thing’s over.” Jason mutters.

Wintergreen gives him a look like he doesn’t believe him.

“You clean up nice, if that’s any consolation.” He says with a polite cough.

Jason finds his hand rising to the side where Slade had just touched, he forces it back down and around the handle of a knife instead. It’s a good-sized blade, makes his vegetable knife look like a toothpick, the kind Jason had seen more often as a murder weapon than used by his Ma in the kitchen.

“’You clean up nice’” He mutters derisively under his breath and puts on an insincere falsetto. “Maybe by Spring I’ll finally be ready for the Ball~!”

He brings the knife down hard on the carcass with a sharp chop and severs the rabbit’s head.

“…I think it’s already dead.” Wintergreen says drily.

Jason breathes out, settles, and focuses on cleaning the game rather than taking out his frustrations on it. Rabbit hide was useful once it had been properly treated and white rabbit fur was in demand. No point in spoiling it because he was in a mood.

“Just not used to it is all.” Jason mutters. “In the Bat’s house we groom ourselves.”

He notices the look of pity pass over the old Alpha’s face and flashes his teeth.

“What? I ain’t a pup, I can take care of myself.” He growls.

“Grooming’s about more than looking pretty.” Wintergreen tells him sadly. “It’s about being together as a pack.”

“I know who my pack is without them shoving their fingers through my hair!” Jason growls, his hackles raising.

Wintergreen snorts in a way that makes it clear he’s not going to start a fight, but his opinion isn’t changed either. Jason feels a cold anger, an instinctive prickling desire to defend his pack from the disapproval of strangers. He forces it down before he can say something he regrets.

“Br… _The Bat_ loves me.” He says coldly as he guts a rabbit.

“Then what are you doing here instead of fawning at his side?” Wintergreen snorts and Jason’s grip tightens on the knife until his knuckles are white.

He wants to snap at the old Alpha, to prove his loyalty with his _teeth_ but…Wintergreen is right. He hates it, but Wintergreen is right. A good Omega wouldn’t have disobeyed orders, a good Omega wouldn’t have ran the pass, a _happy_ Omega didn’t do those things.

Was…Was he unhappy?

The thought makes him freeze up. Bruce had been so good to him, he owes the Alpha so much, everything good in his life had been because of Bruce, it feels selfish to say he was anything but happy.

He…he doesn’t want to think about this. He wants to be loyal, he wants to defend his pack, he wants to be _good,_ but he also wants to feel Slade’s fingers running through his hair again. He scowls and goes back to butchering the rabbits without answering.

It feels good to work with his hands, methodically disassembling the tiny bodies is mindless busywork to him. He sinks himself into the work to avoid thinking, taking on more tasks whenever he can to keep himself distracted. Before he realizes it, he’s made a full meal by himself. He frowns.

“Here.” Wintergreen pushes a warm bowl into his hands and Jason takes it without questioning. “Take this up for him.”

Jason is halfway to the room before he thinks of what bringing food to Slade’s going to look like. He forces himself not to bristle with embarrassment. Damn Wintergreen really suckered him into this one. He flashes his fangs briefly and pushes the door. It’s unlocked and creaks open at a touch.

“I brought food?” Jason says like he’s asking Slade’s permission and winces. He’s got the bowl whether Slade approves or not.

He pushes into the room anyway, holding the bowl in front of him defensively. Slade doesn’t even look up, he’s cleaning the parts of his disassembled rifle.  Jason snorts and sits on the bed, taking a few spoonfuls of soup as he does. It’s pretty good, but he’s not very hungry. He’s eaten his fill before Slade’s done reassembling the gun and looks up at him.

He raises his spare hand in a wordless demand.

“…I’ve decided to trust you.” Jason says quietly as he hands the bowl to Slade.

The Alpha takes it from him, his fingers brushing against Jason’s as he does.

“What was that?” He asks as he digs into the stew.

Jason frowns.

“I _said_ I’ve decided to trust you.” He says reproachfully and throws himself onto the bed.

“Oh I heard you, I was wondering if you’d say it twice.” Slade says.

Jason tries to glare at him but the Alpha just smiles wolfishly.

“Anything in particular that made you change your mind?” Slade asks calmly as he eats food Jason had made him without even checking for poison.

Jason wasn’t purposefully looking out for that, but now that he’d noticed it was hard to think of anything else. Even _Bruce_ didn’t accept food from him without checking for poison.

“If you wanted to hurt me you would have by now.” Jason concedes. “I doubt it’s out of the goodness of your heart…”

Slade snorts.

“…But you’re not too much of an asshole. I can at least trust you as far as I can throw you.” That’s not likely to be far, seeing as the Alpha was all muscle, but it’s better than nothing

“Glad to see you’ve come around to my way of thinking.” Slade grins.

“Yeah, well, as long as you keep me safe I won’t stab you in your sleep.” Jason snorts and extends a hand. “Deal?”

“Deal.” Slade takes it and without warning tugs him in closer.

Jason is jolted forwards, forced to meet the Alpha eye to eye with barely an inch between them.

“Cross me and there won’t be enough to bury.” Slade softly whispers in a tone of deadly seriousness. “Understand?”

Jason nods with a lump in his throat.

“Good.” Slade slowly runs his fingers through the Omega’s hair, even through the menace Jason feels a comforting light-heartedness from being touched. Slade strokes slightly too long for it to be entirely a threat. Jason’s not sure if he should be nuzzling into it or if he shouldn’t _want_ to nuzzle into it. “Bed.”

Jason slowly nods and, without complaining, climbs into bed at the Alpha’s command and lets Slade’s arms curl inescapably around him.


End file.
